


Love Bug: The Matchmaker Phenomenon

by NiteFang



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2170230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteFang/pseuds/NiteFang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The entire Wizarding community seems to be speechless, over the edge and just breathless. Hopeless, they're head over heels in the moment. Breaking off long-standing relationships and forsaking personal vows, everyone's taken a flying leap and fallen in love. There must be something in the water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Question

**Author's Note:**

> As you probably may already know, the summary is a spin on the Jonas Brothers' "Lovebug." Because I'm just a lame-ass person like that, yo. Get used to it.
> 
> I meant for this to be just one giant one-shot.
> 
> I changed my mind.
> 
> I also wanted to be a doctor.
> 
> I changed my mind real quick about that.
> 
> Props to those who can stick to their decisions to pursue a medical degree. Hardcore props.
> 
> Though this has absolutely nothing to do with this story.
> 
> Moving on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you have an existential crisis. You re-structure an entire already-published story. Sorry, guys. But suffer through this with me, there is new stuff at the end of this madness. 

**Prologue  
_The Question_**

* * *

_“We eloped!”_

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley simply sat in their dining room, in the cheerful noon sunlight, flabbergasted.

Bill clamped his hand over his mouth, trying to cover half of his expression, which was torn between dumbstruck shock and uproarious laughter, while Fleur’s pale blonde eyebrows sat high on her forehead, eyes wide as Quaffles. Charlie’s cup overflowed, as he hadn’t yet put down the pitcher of pumpkin juice. A piece of chicken fell out of Fred’s open mouth, and a broccoli head out of George’s. Ginny and Hermione blinked and then blinked at each other. Ron choked on a mouthful of stew, and Harry pounded his back. Luna smiled benignly and raised her wand to spray the table with confetti.

Percy continued to stand in front of the kitchen, one arm around Audrey’s shoulder and the other proudly on his hip, chest puffed out and cheeks pink.

“W-We-Were you—were you _drunk_?” spluttered Mrs. Weasley, sending Charlie and the twins into a round of laughter.

“Mum!” cried Ginny, seeing the huge smile on Percy’s face freeze in place. She scrambled out of her chair and threw herself into Percy’s arms, nearly knocking him back into the fireplace mantle. “Congratulations! When did it happen?”

“I-It was really spur-of-the-moment,” answered Percy, his good mood returning as he wrapped an arm around Ginny’s back and kissed the top of her head. “Audrey and I just decided to do it in the middle of dinner at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Because Rosmerta’s cauliflowers remind everyone of marriage,” deadpanned Bill, a smirk threatening the straight line of his mouth.

“I suppose they’re reminiscent of wedding bouquets,” said George.

Fred nodded in agreement. “And hemorrhoids.”

Bill looked like he was on the verge of tears, Ron on the verge of death. Hermione nearly threw her cutlery at the twins.

Mr. Weasley snapped out of his stupor, stumbled away from the table, nearly knocked his chair to the floor, and tugged Audrey into a hug. “A brilliant decision if I may say so!”

Mrs. Weasley, somewhat regaining her wits, threw the soup ladle over her shoulder and promptly wrenched both her son and his new wife into a bone-cracking hug. “Welcome to the family!” she blubbered, already well on the way to a good, happy cry. This prompted the rest of the table to rise and greet Percy and Audrey.

_“Félicitations!”_

“This is great!”

“Happy for you, mate!”

“Let’s break out the cauliflower florets!”

Hermione gave her congratulations and hugged the newlyweds tightly. The advent of the Second Wizarding War had repaired the relationship between Percy and his family. He was still a fairly rigid kind of bloke, but the presence of Audrey in his life had made quite the difference. He’d even done George a favor and filled in at the joke shop once. (From Fred’s evaluation, it was now law that Percy would be the very _last resort_ should such a case ever arise again.)

However, _elopement_ was more than a bit out of character for him. It was bold and brash for most of the family. What the more _Percy_? While Hermione didn’t doubt their genuine feelings for each other—since Percy and Audrey truly were in love—she did worry about the sudden frequency in such occurrences.

“You _must_ have a reception here for all of us who couldn’t attend the ceremony,” said Mrs. Weasley, wiping her tears on her apron as the others began to take their seats again.

“Of course, Mum,” said Percy, pulling a chair out of for his wife and sitting himself down beside her. “We should have it soon, though. We’ve got a big project coming up—”

“There it is—proof he’s not an imposter!” cried Fred, pointing. Ginny, who sat beside him, grabbed the arm he held out and snapped it back into his face.

“No, no,” said Percy, waving it off. “This _was_ out of the blue, but I like to think it would’ve happened regardless.” He and Audrey turned to each other, exchanging lovestruck smiles.

The twins pretended to gag, and Mrs. Weasley sighed happily.

“You’ll never guess who else we saw at Marriage Registry counter,” said Audrey, blushing as Mrs. Weasley came around with a new ladle to deliver spoonful after spoonful of stew into her bowl.

“Millicent Bulstrode and Viktor Krum?” asked George.

“Not quite,” said Percy, serving Audrey some of the green beans. He adjusted his glasses and said, “Cho Chang and Marcus Flint.”

Ron choked again.

“Wow, Harry, did you Confund the poor girl?” asked Fred, earning a scowl from Harry as he pounded on Ron’s back again.

“Oh, be nice,” said Hermione, not bothering to hide her small smile. “Marcus Flint got his teeth fixed two years ago, so he’s not _too_ bad-looking these days. You can’t hold that against Cho.”

“Granger, has your eye been straying from me?!” cried Fred, hand on his chest. “You’re breaking my heart!”

Ginny punched him despite her chuckles. “I heard about that, actually. They move fast—they only began seeing each other last month.”

“Stranger things have happened,” muttered Ron, grinning and winking at Luna, who pecked his cheek and settled her hand under the table in highly inappropriate areas that made Ron turned red and move her hand elsewhere.

“I think it’s adorable,” said Luna, studying the potato on the other end of her fork. “They’re actually quite good for each other. She’s so nice it rubs off, and he’s blunt enough to counteract her more indecisive tendencies. She admired some of his Quidditch plays back at school, and he always thought she was cute—albeit a bit confused.”

“Honestly,” muttered Ginny, rolling her eyes. “That girl was Confunded long before Harry even came into the picture—spent a good portion of her life confused about a lot of things, most of all her feelings.”

Hermione _tsk_ -ed. “She was a teenager who lost her boyfriend. She had every right to be confused—not that I’m defending her stringing Harry along. I’m glad she sorted herself out now. I hope she and Flint are happy.”

“I sink it is beautiful zat everyone is pairing off,” said Fleur. “Ze war ‘as put so much into perspective.”

“Lee Jordan’s just proposed to Angelina the other day,” said George. “And he’s been in love with her since forever.”

“Finally took the initiative after _five years_ ,” chortled Fred.

Ginny passed Audrey the gravy boat. “Did you hear about Alicia Spinnet? She’s dumped Roger Davies.”

“For Justin Finch-Fletchely,” said George. “Once again— _completely_ out of the blue.”

Fred turned a wry grin on his twin. “And who told you that?”

George blushed. “Katie Bell.”

“Alicia’s been with Davies for _years_!” cried Ron.

“How could they just break up so suddenly?” asked Hermione. “Did he cheat on her?”

George shook his head, relieved he and his love life were out of the spotlight. “Nope.”

“Did… _she_ cheat on him?” asked Harry tentatively, loathe to think such a thing about a former teammate.

“Of course not,” said Ginny.

“So then why did they break things off?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny shrugged. “Apparently, they just realized things weren’t going to work out.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard about this,” said Charlie. “Couple in my year did the same thing. Been together almost a decade just to break up, saying it wasn’t meant to be.”

Bill hummed. “Even with the amount of people breaking off long-standing relationships, everyone’s pairing off these days—either getting married or seriously committing. Give it a couple more weeks, and I’m sure half the female population will be pregnant.”

Hermione looked up from her food in time to catch Percy’s meaningful glance. After a second, she turned back to her plate, but not before catching the raised eyebrow Fred was sending her.

“I suppose it’s everyone’s biological clocks ticking?” Ginny shrugged, stirring her stew.

The twins froze, dropping their utensils onto their plates dramatically.

“Baby sister, let that clock tick in a room that we’re not in,” said George.

“Seconded,” added Charlie sternly.

Ron, turning a bit purple at the thought, glared at Harry pointedly. “Thirded.”

“That’s not a word,” said Harry, unfazed.

“ _You_ , not a word!” snapped Ron, glaring at Harry. Hermione could almost hear him mentally crying, _You sister-defiler!_ It wouldn’t be the first time Ron said anything of the sort.

Ginny didn’t even look up from her food. “Get over yourselves. If you’re going to protest every time I even _allude_ to having a uterus, you need to re-evaluate your lives and your romantic relationships. If you can’t handle a girl in your family, you can’t handle a woman in your life.”

The Weasley boys blinked, and Mrs. Weasley looked downright smug.

“Men reference their penises enough in casual conversation, I don’t see why girls shouldn’t do the same for their own reproductive organs,” added Luna pleasantly.

Fleur looked torn between agreeing and wanting to change the subject entirely. Ginny had no such qualms, nodding emphatically. Hermione could only smirk at the boys’ faces.

“After all, in this context, women are far more durable,” continued Luna. “Kicking a girl in the pubic area may hurt, but kicking a boy will effectively down him. Also commendable is the strength of a uterus, expanding and contracting during a pregnancy. Let’s not mention the woman herself for enduring her period every month.”

“Yes, please, let’s _not_ mention that,” choked out Charlie.

Mr. Weasley, Bill, Percy, and Harry wisely kept their mouths shut, Percy and Mr. Weasley even nodding understandingly at Luna’s statement. Ron, on the other hand, had buried his bright maroon face in his hands to weather the storm. Fred, George, and Charlie just looked aghast— _accepting_ , but aghast.

With a wry smile, Fleur decided to save the boys before their heads further imploded. “Speaking of men who sink with zeir genitals, I recently saw ‘Ermione’s stalker in Diagon Alley.”

Hermione cringed and glared at Fleur’s teasing smile.

“Oh, Cormac,” sighed George, picking up his fork and knife again.

Fred mirrored his twin with an equally heavy sigh. “How _is_ that marvelous fellow these days?”

“Still marveling that no one’s smashed his face in yet?” added George.

“Quite zee opposite actually,” said Fleur. “I saw ‘im with Susan Bones.”

Ron choked. “Has she been diagnosed?!”

“You mean ‘with’ as in, she was telling him off for being a raging twat?” asked Charlie, grimacing.

“Charlie!” cried Mrs. Weasley.

Fleur scowled. “No, she was kissing him on the cheek for buying her ice cream.”

Fred slammed his fist down on the table. “Someone’s Confunded Susan!”

“Well, good thing that witch has one of the meanest left hooks I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing,” said Hermione, glaring reproachfully at Fred, who only winked at her, grinning.

“It’s got to be another case of whatever seems to be going around,” said Bill.

“Oh, lighten up,” said Charlie, whacking his brother on the shoulder with the back of his spoon. “This is just the typical post-war love bug. Or lust bug—whichever.”

“Just because _you’re_ going around like a hormonal teenager doesn’t mean the rest of the Wizarding World is on the same boat,” said Ginny.

Charlie smirked patronizingly. “Gin, they are _certainly_ on that boat, and you can be sure they’re rocking it.”

Mrs. Weasley took her turn to smack _him_ upside the head. “Don’t be crass.”

“Out of everything else that’s been brought up in this conversation, that’s what you dispute?!” cried Ron, who was ignored.

Charlie grimaced. “Oh, come on, Mum, we’re all adults now.”

Teddy’s squeal punctuated Charlie’s sentence, and the burly redhead couldn’t stop the grin as he craned his neck over people’s heads to look for the boy. Teddy, hair an electric blue, pulled himself up to his feet so he could peer over the railing of the playpen and flash a two-tooth grin at everyone.

“See, Mum? Teddy’s a big boy. He knows how to conduct himself around an adult conversation,” said Charlie.

“Fwed!” howled Teddy, his big dark eyes turning a warm brown as his hair flared red. “Fwed!”

Fred shot out of his seat, jogging over to the other side of the room to fetch the little gremlin. “Feeling neglected, mate?”

Teddy’s response was to lift his arms up and say, “Up!”

“Manners, cub!” snapped Fred, hands on his hips. “What’s the magic word?”

Teddy scowled. “Piss!”

“Eh, close enough.” Fred scooped up Teddy and loped back to the table, setting the boy on his lap.

George and Ginny immediately pivoted in their seats to coo and play with the little boy while Molly _tsk_ -ed, her hand on her cheek as she watched adoringly.

“You’re so good with children, dear, why can’t you settle down already?” she asked no one and everyone. Maybe Fred, maybe George, could be Charlie, probably Ginny, more than likely Percy and Audrey, but it hardly mattered. It was more of a general question to anyone at the table who didn’t already have a child. Which was everybody.

“Ugh, _Mum_ , you can’t force that kind of thing,” said George dramatically, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t…what was it, Teddy? Do you think Aunt Hermione remembers?”

Hermione’s eyes drifted heavenward, her lips mumbling some sort of plea. Harry snorted. “You brought this on yourself, Hermione.”

George grinned. “You can’t… _hurry love_?”

“No,” agreed Ginny solemnly, eyes twinkling. “You’ll just have to wait.”

“She said love don’t come easy,” said Fred, nodding sagely. “It’s a game of give and take.”

Teddy shrieked and bounced in excitement.

 _“You can’t hurry love,”_ sang George, Fred and Ginny, in practiced harmony. Teddy bounced along with the song. _“No, you’ll just have to wait. Just trust in the good time, no matter how long it takes. So how many heartaches must I stand before I find a love to let me live again? Right now, the only thing that keeps me hanging on when I feel my strength, ooh, it’s almost gone. I remember Mama said…”_

They all broke off and turned to Hermione expectantly. She was, after all, the woman who first introduced the song on her Muggle radio and danced Teddy to it in the very living room next door. And who was she to deny her favorite little boy?

 _“You can’t hurry love, no, you’ll just have to wait. She said love don’t come easy. It’s a game of give and take,”_ sang Hermione, snapping her fingers as Fred clapped Teddy’s hands and joined in. _“How long must I wait? How much more must I take before loneliness will cause my heart, heart to break? Now I can’t bear to live my life alone. I’ve grown impatient for a love to call my own. When I feel that I, I can’t go on, well, these precious words keep me hanging on. I remember Mama said…”_

Mrs. Weasley smiled, reaching for her husband’s hand as the rest of the table joined in on Teddy’s favorite song, snapping and pantomiming the lyrics.

“No rush, Mum,” said Charlie softly, leaning over to peck his mother’s cheek. “Let us all practice a bit so we can get it right when it matters, eh?”

Mrs. Weasley only sighed happily, placated for the time being, watching her family sing that catchy Muggle song. The grandbabies would come soon; she was sure of it.

Love was in the air.


	2. The Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am getting a serious kick out of labeling these chapters. You’ll see why when you get to chapter four—“practical application.” Ha ha ha!

**1  
_Preliminary Research_**

* * *

It was a cool, sunny September afternoon, two days after Weasley Sunday lunch, when Percy and Hermione walked out into Diagon Alley, heading toward the Leaky Cauldron. They were to meet a couple of friends in a nearby Muggle café for coffee and a bit of a chat—away from prying magical eyes and ears. One pair of eyes and ears, however, could not be shaken off.

“Fred, _honestly_ , I’ll see you at dinner, you don’t need to come with us,” insisted Hermione, scowling a bit as Fred held her tighter to his side.

“Right now, your separation anxiety rivals Ron’s when he was two,” said Percy, wincing as Fred threw his arm over his shoulder and tugged him to his other side.

Fred, happy to be sandwiched between his brother and his Hermione (because that’s what they were to each other— _each other’s_ ), only tugged them closer so they could hear his low tone.

“It’s not a matter of separation anxiety, darlings,” he said. “It’s a matter of me not wanting to be in the same vicinity as my lovestruck, hormonal twin and his girlfriend, who unfortunately happens to be our new employee.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse to bring you along,” said Percy.

Fred eyed him pointedly, squeezing just a bit tighter. “Just like how cauliflower isn’t a good enough excuse to elope for Mum.”

Hermione hid her smile by ducking her head and pretending to adjust the hem of her blouse. Percy huffed, and she could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Very well,” he said as pompously as ever, shrugging off Fred’s arm and leading them into the café.

“I reckon this little meeting isn’t as confidential as you made it out to be if I can so easily crash it,” said Fred, relaxing his hold on Hermione but still not letting go.

“It’s confidential if you’re not in the Order of the Phoenix,” muttered Hermione softly, so only Fred could hear.

Fred straightened up slightly, expression taking a serious shift. “Is _that_ why you and Poncy were shooting each other furtive looks at lunch?”

Hermione frowned at his tone. “You noticed?”

“My skin crawls when your attention isn’t focused on me.”

“You’re ridiculous, Fred.”

“You live for my ridiculousness”

“As a matter of fact, a part of me _dies_ every time it comes up.”

“I know what else can come up that would guarantee _la petit mort._ ”

Hermione stopped in the middle of the street to just _look_ at Fred, her blank expression telling him _so_ much. He only laughed. He wisely let the subject drop for the time being. He released Hermione’s shoulder to take her hand and slide his fingers between hers.

The way his big, warm hands wrapped around hers had Hermione focusing on the way her feet moved, one in front of the other, to let her hair curtain the fierce blush that made her light outfit feel like a parka and thermals in the middle of July. Fred squeezed her hand, and when she looked up, he winked with a sweet smile. He didn’t let go of her hand until they reached the Muggle café, where two familiar faces were already waiting for them. Kingsley and Ron greeted the trio before settling down and calling over a waitress.

The Minister of Magic ordered a frappe and seemed to enjoy it. The Assistant to the Minister took a tentative drink of his latte and promptly and discreetly spat it back into the cup. The Auror took a happy sip of his mocha. The Unspeakable wrapped her hands around a mug of lemon-ginger tea and took a deep breath. The other half of the most successful pair of entrepreneurs during and after the war took a long draw from his chocolate and vanilla milkshake and then grimaced at the resulting brain freeze.

“This isn’t natural,” said Kingsley once Hermione put up a strong _Muffliato_ around their table.

“Do you think it’s a spell?” asked Percy, pushing his glasses up his nose and nudging the latte away.

“If it is, it’s a _kind_ one,” said Hermione. “So far, the people who seem to be affected have found legitimate, compatible matches. It’s not just a flimsy attraction.”

“Weird and random as they may be, I’d say these could really last,” agreed Percy.

Ron eyed him suspiciously. “You would hope so—you just got married and all.”

“I don’t fall within the parameters of this discussion,” said Percy, sitting up straighter in the cushioned wicker chair. “I’ve been seeing Audrey since before the Battle of Hogwarts. This… _phenomenon_ has only been going for the last six months.”

“But _what_ has caused this alleged phenomenon?” asked Kingsley. “As pleased as I am that the people are finding love, the amount who’ve found it _staggering._ I’ve seen the numbers—marriages are at a record high. Let’s not mention the amount of affection plastered all over everyone up and down the streets of Diagon Alley. It’s like bloody Valentine’s Day every day.”

“Should we be looking a gift dragon in the mouth?” asked Ron.

Fred smirked behind his milkshake. “Asks one of the first to be affected in the group.”

Ron reared back, affronted. “Excuse me! I _always_ thought Luna was beautiful!”

“You always thought she was _pretty_ and _pretty damn weird_ ,” countered Fred.

Hermione shrugged. “It wasn’t until three months ago that you began to express an interest.”

“About the same time you practically gave us a lesson about umbigular slashkillers,” added Fred.

“Um _gub_ ular slash _kilters_ ,” corrected Ron, ears pink. “And that’s beside the point. If you’re going to call _my_ relationship into question. I’m redirecting the _Lumos_ on you two.” He motioned to Fred and Hermione with a petulant scowl and a raised eyebrow.

The two barely glanced at each other.

“Nothing to question,” said Fred simply.

Hermione nodded in agreement. “And if there was, the answer would be irrefutable.”

Absolutely baffled with their responses, implied or explicit, Ron could only blink and gape. Unable to pursue the direction, Ron shook his head. “ _Anyway_ , I don’t _feel_ spelled, and as random as you all think my feelings are, I distinctly remember when I thought of Luna as more than a friend. It wasn’t anything like that incident with Amortentia in sixth year, where I was thinking of chocolate, and suddenly the image of a bon-bon in my head morphed into Romilda Vane’s face.”

Hermione winced, and Fred cringed and shuddered.

“This couldn’t be the work of any lingering followers of You-Know-Who, right?” asked Percy. “In order to… _repopulate_ the Wizarding community after the war?”

“No, it couldn’t be,” said Hermione. “Muggleborns and half-bloods are pairing up with purebloods—take Dean Thomas and Daphne Greengrass.”

“Seamus Finnegan and Pansy Parkinson,” added Ron, shaking his head in disbelief. “Still can’t believe the world hasn’t imploded.”

“It’s practically sacrilege in Voldemort’s eyes,” said Hermione. “I doubt they’d have any hand in this.”

“Still can’t discount Dark wizard involvement,” said Kingsley. “They might not be as discriminatory as Voldemort. They could temporarily suspend their dogma for the sake of repopulation. Voldemort sympathizers could procreate and rear the next generation in the beliefs of the Dark Lord.”

“But they’d be half-bloods,” said Hermione. “That’s counterintuitive.”

“And literally counter-productive,” added Fred.

“They might not be You-Know-Who sympathizers,” said Ron, rubbing the scruff on his jaw contemplatively. “They could be Dark wizards with their own agendas. There’s no denying that there’s got to be some sort of magic afoot, but whether it’s Light or Dark remains to be seen.”

Hermione sighed, leaned back in her chair, and took a sip of her tea. “I’m dubious about anything that tampers with people’s free will— _no_ , Ron, I know you fell in love with Luna. I don’t doubt that. I don’t doubt the sincerity between all the matches that we’ve seen and probably have yet to see. But the fact that it’s _genuine affection at all_ is what worries me. Any sort of magic that affects people on such a deep level is not to be trifled with.”

“Should we end it then?” asked Fred, leaning forward and steepling his fingers seriously. The position would’ve been more imposing if he wasn’t resting the straw to his milkshake on his lips. “Find out what started this and _stop_ _it_?”

“ _That_ ,” said Kingsley, “is the second-most important question to be asked. Look, the statistics have showed a severe decrease in population. We lost many during the war, and the subsequent year saw us chasing down Voldemort sympathizers. People weren’t ready to start a family if they were too afraid of some other Dark wizard coming.”

“What are you implying?” asked Ron, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m _saying_ that we were extremely worried about the Wizarding community of Great Britain dying out,” said Kingsley. “Short of seducing people from foreign magical communities to emigrate and strengthen the bloodlines, members of the Wizengamot began to toss up ideas of a Marriage Law.”

“What?!” shrieked Ron, nearly knocking over his precious drink.

“Because forcing people to get married is definitely a great atmosphere to raise children,” said Fred blandly.

“It would’ve been supplemented by spells to find the people’s most compatible matches based on personal preferences, genetic suitability, and demographic details,” said Percy. “For all intents and purposes, it was a program for people to find their soul mates.”

“No, Percy,” said Hermione, “it was a _breeding program_. I heard rumors of a spawn deadline.”

“Excuse me, a _what_ now?” asked Fred, voice skipping an octave.

“A spawn deadline,” repeated Hermione. “It’s an allotted period in which you would be required to produce a child.”

“Who’s on the Wizengamot again? Ronald, your list of Dark wizards grows,” said Fred darkly. “I should send them care packages.”

And by “care packages” he probably meant boxes of cruel and vindictive pranks best suited for revenge. Hermione only had to set her hand on Fred’s for his shoulders to relax exponentially.

“It only went as far as a verbalized idea,” assured Kingsley, though he didn’t look any less displeased. “Many had grown desperate in the face of the data. We asked the Department of Mysteries in the Love Offices to look into spells that would aid in finding true love or the closest to it. We understood the moral problem of trying to force people together for the sake of reproduction, but I don’t think you truly understand how dire the situation was. Birth rates were low even before the war—interbreeding amongst the purebloods, discrimination and prejudices that pushed Muggleborns back into the Muggle society and away from the Wizarding community…”

Grimacing, Percy shrugged. “The government was trying to play matchmaker.”

Fred sneered. “Yes, matchmakers to _brood mares_ because that’s what the populace basically was, right?”

Ron sighed and ran his hands down his face. “Glad to see the Ministry is consistent—even if it’s at coming up with shite ideas.”

“You can imagine the mixture of relief and worry I have about this whole _love-is-in-the-air_ business,” said Kingsley. “Birth rates, marriage rates, bloody _rates of happiness_ —I want to let it go and call it a blessing, but if this is someone’s handiwork, we must find out who’s behind it and _why_.”

“What’s the plan then?” asked Ron.

“You and Percy go about your business,” said Kingsley. “Percy, you’ll be my ears throughout the Ministry—you and Ron. If you hear any word of a mass love spell or anything even remotely related to this, I want to know. We’re keeping this strictly within the order.”

“I’ve already been doing research on anything that could compel a person to find their soul mate or some variation,” said Hermione, sighing wearily. “It mirrors what we were trying to do for that Marriage Law foolishness, but…well, I’ll try to figure something out.”

Kingsley nodded. His eyes shifted onto Fred and he frowned slightly, puzzled. “Fred, why are you here?”

Fred shrugged. “Moral support.”

Kingsley hid a smile. “Well, you can morally and physically support Hermione in the research process—if that means reading and carrying books and being her guinea pig, so be it.”

“I’ve been her bitch for years, I don’t see any problem with this arrangement.”

“Fred!”

Ron sighed. “I’m going to need another drink.” He stood and picked up Kingsley’s cup too. “You’re gonna need another one of these too. Trust me.”

* * *

Hermione closed the book with a soft _thud_ and dropped her head onto the table with a loud _thunk_. It’d been three days since the meeting in the Muggle café, and she’d lost track of how long she’d been cooped up in the library of Grimmauld Place. She’d compiled as much information about love spells, love charms, and love potions as she could, but so far, she hadn’t come up with any theory sufficient to explain what she now deemed the “Matchmaker Phenomenon.”

She’d been part of the team assigned to make the potential Marriage Law more palatable, so she already had the pertinent information. However, the pertinent information still left her with the same problem she’d had when the Marriage Law was still anywhere _near_ the table.

Thinking that perhaps time and distance from the issue would give her a fresh perspective for something new to crop up, she assembled new and old research in Number Twelve’s library. “Assembled,” however, was being used loosely in that context.Books that weren’t open on every available surface were stacked on the floor, hip-high, and standard rolls of parchment were mixed with Muggle notebook paper. Scattered throughout the books and sheaves of paper were fine strands of curly, brown hair—the primary indicator that Hermione was truly reaching a point of manic obsession. Her frustration showed in the way she’d been constantly combing her fingers through her hair, and her stress showed in the way she pulled her hands away with one or two strands tangled between her fingers. It wasn’t even that the situation was extremely dire and she was desperate to solve it for the sake of both man and wizard-kind. It was because she was so painfully at a loss for an explanation.

She was pitifully yanking out a stray hair from between the pages of a nearby book, her cheek resting on the cool wood of the table, when someone knocked on the door.

“No, Ginny!” she called, knowing exactly who it was and exactly why she was being disturbed despite her explicit instruction otherwise.

“See, that’s usually what I’d say when I catch my baby sister and Potter in a compromising position,” said Fred, somehow managing to undo the wards on the door. She stopped questioning it a year ago. Fred had a knack for always managing to take down her wards. There had to be a metaphor for their relationship in there, but that was beside the point. “Didn’t you hear me yowling at them earlier? Caused me actual, physical pain, Herms! I’m bloody scarred for life—only I’ve got a boy with a lightning scar’s arse imprinted across my corneas instead of an _actual_ lightning scar across my forehead.”

Fred hip-bumped the door open so hard it rebounded off the wall and nearly upset the two dinner plates he carried in his hands. He winked at Hermione, who lifted her head and rolled her eyes, as he skirted his way around the minefield of books.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to threaten your sister’s boyfriend when he’s bloody _immortal_?” Fred continued to rant as he sauntered up to her, dropped a kiss on top of her head, set one of the plates in front of her, and presented her with the silverware he’d shoved into his back pocket. “I mean, he looked sufficiently terrified when I told him to stuff his knob back in his trousers before I cursed that wood to be _real_ and make them feel how awkward it is when someone walks in to see a pair trying to prematurely branch out the family tree—”

Hermione choked on the first spoonful of corn. “Fred!”

“Sorry, love. So he looked scared and all, but really, there’s not much I can threaten him with,” he continued, unperturbed as he set his plate down next to her and pulled up a stool so they were practically hip-to-hip. “I could pelt him with _Avada_ after _Avada_ , but he’d probably come out of it with another equally badass scar like the outline of a dragon on his right arse-cheek or something.”

She snorted into her potatoes, and Fred grinned at her, brown eyes warm and happy.

“Before we met him, George and I speculated what would’ve happened if we _Avada-_ ed each other. We _really_ wanted cool scars on our arses.”

Thankfully, Hermione hadn’t put anything in her mouth when he’d said that. “That’s horrible!”

“No, you know what’s horrible?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “The fact that you’ve been working in here since the crack of dawn, and do you know what time it is?”

Hermione glanced at the clock and realized…there _was_ no clock. “Er, no.”

“Half-past obsessed,” he deadpanned. “If you’d bothered to open the curtains, you’d see it’s night. Have you eaten at all?”

Hermione forked up a piece of the roast chicken. “Yes,” she mumbled. “I brought up some toast for lunch.”

“You mean that flat, square-shaped, brown _paperweight_ on the other side of the table whose corner crust has been nibbled off? That’s lunch for a _gnat_ , not a human being.”

Hermione sighed and swallowed the food in her mouth. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

Fred looked around at the mountain range of books. “Hadn’t noticed.” He nudged her plate, a gesture to keep eating. “Listen, Hermy, darling—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“‘Mione, dear.”

“I’d really rather you say my entire name rather than half of it at a time.”

“‘Mione-Herm, my love.”

 _“Honestly.”_ Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a small smile that had Fred’s grin growing wider.

“So how goes the research process, darling?” he asked. “Not developing a hidden agenda to utilize one of these spells to seduce me, are you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling. “I’m not trying to seduce you.”

“Good,” said Fred, twirling his fork between his fingers as he fixed her with a pointed look, “because that’d be wasted efforts. All you’d have to do is breathe.”

Blushing furiously, Hermione focused on her green beans.

It’d been like this for a while now. Could it be because of the Matchmaker Phenomenon? Perhaps. But if she was truthful with herself, this had started not too long after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Fred came out of his explosion-induced coma with a new lease on life. He became increasingly affectionate with her, and she slowly stopped shaking him off. Hermione had long-since stopped denying the fact that every time he touched her, her heart raced fasted than the beat of a snitch’s wings.

Her relationship with Ron had thankfully petered out, back into the friendship it’d been for so many years. They’d both amicably parted without any lingering romantic inclinations toward each other. Ron had eventually and enthusiastically skipped into Luna’s embrace, and Fred’s arms seemed to trap her often enough for it to be common occurrence at this point. The rest of the Weasleys no longer questioned it; Ron had been the first one to explicitly bring it up at the café.

That didn’t stop her from wondering how much of Fred’s initial affections remained now in the presence of this unknown magic. That didn’t stop her from worrying whether or not her own feelings were in reaction to his own, fostered by the unknown magic from pre-existence fondness, or _genuine, organic_ romantic inclinations.

“You just went quiet. I don’t like quiet.” He froze. “Oh, Godric. You said you weren’t seducing me, but you never said anything about seducing someone else. Are you trying to get George to join our fun? It’s kind of you to include my twin and all, but I think that’s a cup of tea he and I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

She choked on the green bean she’d just shoved in her mouth and spluttered, “Fred!”

He laughed and tugged one of her curls, grinning. He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and motioned for her to eat. They sat in companionable silence, occasionally and playfully bumping each other with elbows and sly smiles.

“So what’ve you been looking at all day?” asked Fred once they’d cleared through half their plates.

Hermione swallowed her mouthful and pulled her research closer. “Well, the Biological Compatibility Charm employs the caster’s own hormones to attract the person who reacts most viscerally to them. The Ensynastic Spell puts the caster and the target in the same emotional state of mind to form a stronger emotional bond to facilitate a relationship. Lastly, Amortentia induces a potent infatuation, though it _could_ have roots in genuine affection when directed at the right person—evidenced by the varying scents a person finds upon inhalation. The charm is physical, the spell emotional, and the potion preferential.”

Fred looked over the texts and then her notes. “But?”

“But none of these and none of the lesser love charms were _anywhere_ close to fitting the criteria of this Matchmaker Phenomenon.” Hermione motioned to the mountain range of books around her. “Even when combining all three, with even a few extra spells thrown in the mix to fill in the gaps, could the effects mirror what seems to be _naturally_ occurring. No spell is subtle enough, no potion that could affect at a spiritual level.”

Fred frowned. “So everyone just seems to be…falling in love…naturally…at the same time.”

Hermione shrugged helplessly and forked up a potato. “If it weren’t for the fact that it’s all happening within this relatively short space of time, I would say that people have managed to completely re-evaluate their lives, pull their heads out of their arses, and find real, genuine love. No magical tampering.”

Fred tapped his lip with his fork, frowning into the distance. “And you said you combined love spells with other non-love spells?”

“Yes, to either dampen some of the effects to make it more natural or to emphasize other aspects to ensure a perfect match,” answered Hermione disappointedly. “The theory makes sense, but—”

“—but the reality is more disappointing than Ron’s inability to talk to beautiful women,” finished Fred, nodding.

Hermione blinked. “Not quite the phrasing I’d use, but sure.”

“Have you considered that it could be an original spell?” asked Fred, looking rightly concerned.

Hermione nodded and swallowed another mouthful of food before replying, “I did, but the major issue with my research so far is that everything I’ve put on the table is fundamentally _magical_. Everything simply sets up the circumstances for love, not love itself the way we’re seeing or feeling it.”

Fred’s frown cleared, and he nodded understandingly. “Yeah, yeah. You’re talking about the fundamental laws of magic—can’t bring people back from the dead and can’t make anyone fall in love with anyone else.”

“Exactly,” sighed Hermione, scraping up the last of her food. “Either we’re going to have to chalk it up to genuinely _natural_ phenomenon or concede that everyone who’s fallen in love, gotten engaged, and gotten married recently are under a spell, falsifying the effects of what they think is true love.”

Fred tapped his fork on his now-empty plate, studying her quietly. “Hermione.”

She didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“You’re doubting this, aren’t you?” he asked softly, putting his fork down and turning around in his seat so his legs were on either side of her. He motioned between the two of them with a finger. “This little dance we’ve been doing?”

Hermione put her fork down and scratched her eyebrow, turning to face him, though not quite as head-on as he’d positioned himself. “Fred—”

“I can see it in your eyes, love. You’re a shit actress and you’re a shit liar too. So let me assure you now that _this_ has been going on for years, and if there’s been any love spell interference lately, it’s only served to amplify what’s been there all along, all right? So don’t you dare start getting nervous about the legitimacy of what’s going on between us.”

Hermione couldn’t hold it back any more—the incandescently happy grin stretched across her face, and whatever bone-weary tiredness, which had begun to fade when Fred walked in, disappeared completely. He grinned back and laced his fingers with hers, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles.

“Have you talked to anyone else about this?” asked Fred. “Your Love Bug Phenomenon-thing.”

“ _Matchmaker_ Phenomenon,” she corrected him. “And, no, I haven’t.”

“‘Love Bug’ sounds better. Darling, have you even contemplated going to Hogwarts?” asked Fred, lips turning up.

Hermione frowned and eyed him warily. “No, why?”

Fred chuckled, shaking his head as he stood and picked up his and Hermione’s empty plates. “Come on, Nee-Nee, love. Go to bed. We’re going to Hogwarts tomorrow, and I’m going to show you exactly how to utilize the world’s best untapped resource.”


	3. Reconnaissance

**2  
_Reconnaissance_**

* * *

The double doors of Hogwarts’s main entrance burst open, banging back against the wall behind it. A few of the students still lingering in the entrance hall yelped or jumped in surprise. Fred sauntered in, an imposing figure with his ruffled, fiery-red hair and emerald-green and purple-lined robes billowing magnificently. Hermione strode in behind him, rolling her eyes. Her reaction was a bit more affectionate than the Headmistress’s. McGonagall grimaced and shook her head, causing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to chuckle where he stood behind her.

“Honestly, Mr. Weasley,” said McGonagall. “I was hoping you’d grown out of your highly dramatic tendencies.”

“Honestly, McGoogles,” said Fred, dropping a loud, smacking kiss on McGonagall’s cheek. “I was hoping you’d realize that I’m _occupationally contracted_ to be dramatic. I own a joke shop, remember?”

“How could I forget?” asked McGonagall dryly, pursing her lips and shooting a look at a button-nosed boy about thirteen, who was staring up at Fred with something a bit beyond hero-worship in his eyes. “I’m unfortunately very familiar with your products.”

The boy caught her look, but instead of looking abashed, he grinned good-naturedly, saluted Fred, and ambled off—his cheerful stride marred by a distinct limp.

Hermione’s smile faded, and Fred tensed beside her.

Hogwarts had reopened a mere four months after the 2nd of May. It had been a long-debated and long-meditated decision, but ultimately the professors and the Order (and more than half the Ministry) agreed that the education of the young witches and wizards were tantamount to rebuilding the Wizarding community. It was with great vigor and determination that the Hogwarts professors and members of the Order vetted volunteers to help the reconstruction effort to get as much of the school back up and running in time for September 1998.

However, what was a school without its students?

Those who hadn’t perished in the battle had either left the Wizarding world entirely, were being deterred from returning by their fearful parents, had decided against returning of their own accord. Those who _had_ mustered the courage to return were visibly scarred—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The magic they’d been subjected to in that one year had nearly ruined the children—from the first years to the seventh years.

Sometimes simply turning on a small light in the suffocating darkness just isn’t enough.

The professors struggled in their plans to help the returning students in any way they could. Educationally, to keep them abreast of the Ministry standards so they didn’t have to stay longer than the allotted seven years. Mentally and emotionally, to teach and aid them in coping with the trials and terrors they suffered under the hands of the Carrows and Snape’s blind eye. Magically, because a person is not the sum of all his parts—a person is a whole being, intricate and interwoven, and if they can perform a Cruciatus Curse more adeptly than _Riddikulus_ because wishing and willing excruciating pain on someone is easier than mustering a happy thought at which to laugh, then McGonagall, Flitwick, Trelawney, Slughorn, Vector, Sprout, Hagrid, and even Madam Pince all had their work cut out for them.

The result was that an eighth year was deemed necessary, and should a following ninth year be called for, so be it—for the sake of the students, for the sake of the children.

The clincher in getting students to return was the addition of various war heroes. Neville Longbottom was brought on as a teaching assistant and apprentice to Professor Sprout, Luna Lovegood as an intern for Hagrid, Oliver Wood as Flying Instructor and Quidditch Referee, and Harry Potter as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. For who could better conquer the jinxed position than the Boy-Who-Continued-to-Live?

The last two years had shown the extent of the damage inflicted on the castle and its occupants, and total recuperation was a long ways off. But it was coming—coming in the laughter that chimed down the hall, in the sunlight that glimmered in through the tall windows and bounced off the gleaming floors, in the mischief shining in a good-natured smile of a button-nosed boy with a limp.

Fred turned to McGonagall and Harry, eyes gleaming. “A worthy successor?”

McGonagall glared at him sternly, but her heart wasn’t in the expression at all.

Harry smirked. “Not yet,” he said. “A bit uninspired, actually. But he’s a third year. He’s got time.”

The two grinned almost conspiratorially.

And then Fred’s grin darkened as he eyed Harry pointedly. “All right there, Potter?”

Harry scowled, but its effects were diminished by his deep, dark blush. “It was a _free weekend_ for me and Ginny, Fred. It’s also _my house_.”

“Totally understandable, mate,” said Fred, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders and nodding sympathetically. “The point I tried to hammer the other night, however, is that you keep _your_ point and _your_ hammering _behind closed doors_ , you know?” What should’ve been a friendly gesture smoothly shifted into a variant of a chokehold as Harry blushed even darker, grimaced, and tried to pry Fred’s arm loose.

“So what _exactly_ is your plan here, Mr. Weasley?” asked McGonagall, pinching Fred’s ear so he released her Defense professor. Several nearby students laughed as they passed by.

Fred smirked, patting Harry’s back as the younger man gasped, wheezed, and rasped his way into Hermione’s slightly more sympathetic arms. “I’ve got to teach Mi-Mi here how to really pull information out of a school.”

“Fred, for Merlin’s sake, my name is—”

“We’ve already made our introductions years ago, Mya, you don’t need to reintroduce me,” said Fred, tugging one of Hermione’s curls.

“Apparently I _do_ considering you can’t seem to get my name right these days,” huffed Hermione.

“Mr. Weasley, I need a bit more information than that before I let you and Miss Granger go gallivanting up and down this castle,” said McGonagall.

“Don’t worry, Minnie,” said Fred, tugging Hermione away from Harry and inching them down the hall, away from the Headmistress. “We’re just going to chat with a few portraits and exchange pleasantries with a couple ghosts. Then we’ll be out of your hair—which looks gloriously silvery today, Minervy-darling.”

Fred then picked up the pace, dragging Hermione down the hall behind him and leaving McGonagall and Harry staring after the pair, hand-in-hand as they parted the sea of awed students. Fred continued to pitch nicknames that Hermione vehemently shot down.

“Mee-own?”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“If I have, it’s because you’ve driven me crazy, Hermio.”

McGonagall sighed and folded her hands in front of her, one eyebrow raised. “How much did Professor Longbottom put down for their inevitable engagement?”

Harry slid his own hands into the pockets of his robes. “Forty Galleons on New Year’s, and I put fifty on Christmas.”

“Shacklebolt?”

“Forty on Valentine’s.”

The Headmistress snorted. “Fifty on Christmas. An extra twenty-five that he’ll trap her under enchanted mistletoe that won’t release them until she accepts his ring.”

Meanwhile, down a few corridors, Hermione watched as Fred skipped down the hallways, occasionally bending down over plants and peering behind suits of armor, all the while greeting students and portraits they passed.

“Fred, what _are_ you doing?”

He bent down close to the foot of one of suits of armor, looking for all the world like he was adjusting its boot. “I’m setting up pranks,” he answered plainly.

Hermione spluttered in shock, jerking around for anyone who may have overheard. “Fred!”

“What?” he asked innocently, straightening up with a benevolent smile. “Just trying to add a little more laughter to this school, Herm. Can’t fault me for that can you?”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, trailing after him as he set off down the corridor again. “And have you stopped to consider your pranks are occasionally a bit more shocking and incendiary than is healthy for this environment?”

“Hello, Madam Horntuffle. How are you this morning?” Fred called to a nearby painting as he flipped up the visor of another suit of armor, reaching inside for a few seconds and making the armor bristle uncomfortably. “And of course I’ve considered that, Hermie. I’m not _completely_ dense. These are simple entertainment charms I’ve planted—new products that are to come out just in time for the winter hols. Call this whole thing a preview, I suppose.”

“Don’t call me ‘Hermie’ either. Entertainment charms?”

“Aye.” Fred winked. “These upstanding knights will be breaking out into song or dance—or both—at random times of the day. We’ll program them with more holiday-themed songs once the season comes, but for now we kept things neutral. I made sure the songs aren’t too raucous or the dancing too erratic—just some smooth and serene tunes with a few lively and catchy ones. A few of these gentlemen will be waltzing or tango-ing with each other while others are going to be breaking out into a lively jig to the Back-Road Blokes.”

“Backstreet Boys, Fred.”

Fred cast his eyes heavenward, shaking his head. “Ridiculous names.”

Hermione smiled reluctantly as Fred tapped her nose playfully and skipped down the hall again. “Muggle songs?” she asked after him.

“Of course, Ermie. We must educate the next generation in good music after all.”

“Fred, don’t call me that!”

He sighed and stopped, waiting for her to catch up as he pouted at her balefully. “My list of permutations for your name is dwindling, love. You’re going to have to make a decision soon.”

“Well, if you want my decision, you’re going to have to be more creative,” answered Hermione, cocking an eyebrow and putting a hand on her hip.

Fred mirrored her stance, smirking. “How about ‘Weasley’ then? Sounds better than anything else I’ve come up with so far.”

The butterflies that’d taken off in Hermione’s stomach bottlenecked in her throat, but she managed to hold it together. “Bit premature, don’t you think?” she countered without a single wobble in her voice. “You haven’t even asked me out on a date.”

Fred grinned, reaching out to take her hand and set his other on her waist. A few of the nearby paintings and students tittered at the two war heroes, looking for all the world like they were about to start dancing.

“If you want to get technical, we’ve been on about twenty dates within the last month,” said Fred.

Hermione stifled her smile and shook her head. “It’s not a date until you ask me out on a date and make it official.”

His breath ghosted across her face as he leaned in. “One day, love, we _will_ make things official, and you’ll have a ring on your finger and a different name following your first.” He paused and then shrugged. “Or a different one following mine. Whichever we decide.”

Hermione swallowed loudly, her breath stopping of its own accord when he brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

“Until then,” he whispered across her lips, “will you go on a date with me, _Hermione_?”

Her breath came out in a soft, embarrassing giggle. Fred grinned and bumped her nose again. Not wanting to risk another giggle, Hermione nodded. She was a bloody disgrace.

Fred’s grin only widened, his eyes crinkling mirthfully. “Shall we keep it simple then? Three Broomsticks? Tonight? After we conclude our research and following harassment of Harry as a goodbye?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and chuckled. She cleared her throat and nodded.

“Good,” he said happily. Then he shocked the both of them a second later when he dropped a chaste kiss on her lips that she felt even from the tips of her hair and released everything but her hand. “Fantastic! Now let’s go! We’ve got paintings to harass and ghosts to hassle!”

Effectively stupefied, Hermione let herself be tugged along by Fred, who seemed to develop an extra spring in his step and a brighter grin.

“So, Miss Granger, what do paintings do best?” asked Fred as they walked down the hallways. He nodded and winked at paintings as he passed, occasionally greeting ones whose names he knew.

“Erm, gossip?” she answered unsurely, still a bit dazed and confused, her brain floating some two feet above her neck. That didn’t stop her from noticing the way the portraits immediately began to break out in conspiratorial whispers and running through the frames to spread the news.

“Precisely,” said Fred, linking his arm with hers and expertly lobbing something into the nearby potted plant. “Afternoon, Father Olivier! Portraits _talk_. Incessantly. You think the only place to glean information is in class or in the library, but you should’ve learned from the Marauder’s Map, love— _there’s always another way_.” He pelted something straight into another potted plant to punctuate his statement.

“And so we’re fishing for information from _portraits_ and _ghosts_? Fred, they’re hardly reliable—you remember Violet and the Fat Lady,” said Hermione. “They were the biggest gossips in the school—like Parvati and Lavender multiplied by a hundred.”

“So it boils down to having reliable sources,” said Fred. “Trust me, love.”

Hermione took his hand—which she noted he was more than eager to comply and squeeze back, since she’d been the one to initiate it this time. “It’s not a matter of me _trusting you_ —I do. It’s just…I’m _confused._ Portraits are biased and subjective. What could they know better than texts found in the bloody Department of Mysteries?”

Fred kissed the corner of her lips, and she was disappointed that he either missed or was aiming for off-center. Though for their endeavor’s sake, she supposed it was better that he didn’t muddle her brain with kisses again. “Your unwavering trust in books is admirable, Hermione, _really_. What do portraits know better than books?” He leaned into her side, nose grazing her ear as his face nuzzled into her hair. _“Secrets.”_

And then he shot off down the hallway again, dragging her along.

“Hello, Sir Nick!” hollered Fred.

Nearly Headless Nick froze just as he was about to turn a corner, backing up slightly. When he saw who’d called, his eyes widened comically, and he sped up—gliding around the corner as fast as he could, his head teetering dangerously in his haste.

“Oi! Sir Nick! How could you?!” screeched Fred. He took off, leaving Hermione rolling her eyes as she listened to the students laughing at them. “Sir Nicholas De Majorly Pompous-ton! How dare you?! After all we’ve been through together?!”

“Well, well, are we hosting a reunion today?”

Hermione turned, looking for the source of a voice. It was too deep and old to belong to any student, so she scanned the walls. An old gentleman with a severe middle-part in his snowy white hair and in his elaborate moustache sat in a high-backed armchair in front of a fireplace, dressed in a smoking jacket and monocle beckoned to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, is it? The Brightest Witch of the Age?” he asked, smiling at her serenely.

Hermione nodded respectfully. “Yes, sir.”

“What brings you back to your alma mater?” he asked. “Though, I suppose I shouldn’t call it your alma mater considering you didn’t return for your final year. You have that in common with your beau—though, shockingly enough, he had more schooling than you, didn’t he?”

Hermione blushed. Fred _had_ at least suffered through a few months’ worth of his seventh year. She’d been on the run and had opted not to return for the optional eighth year McGonagall offered the former seventh year students. She’d taken her N.E.W.T.’s at the Ministry instead.

“He did, but I doubt I would’ve learned any more than he did in that last year,” she said pointedly.

“Calm yourself, young lady. Offense was not intended,” he said, returning the monocle to his breast pocket and smirking slightly. “Though you may take some offense to what I am most compelled to ask.”

Well, that didn’t bode well. “What is it, sir?”

He folded his hands on his open book. “What _are_ you doing with Mr. Weasley as your beau?”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t remember Hogwarts paintings being that…nosey. Goodness. “What—I mean. Wh—” She cleared her throat and licked her lips. “Why should my relationship with Fred garner disapproval?”

“Considering the last time I saw you two together within a five-foot vicinity, you were scolding him for getting himself sent to detention while he was smirking at you and fingering one of his Conniving Cookboxes behind his back.”

“Skiving Snackboxes,” she corrected him. “And people change over the years, sir.”

He smirked. “I doubt it’s change and more like a shift in perspective, don’t you think?”

Hermione blushed. “Well—”

“Unless it’s less of an issue of change of perspective more like a taste of what’s been going around these past few months?”

Hermione froze, frowning.

The gentleman’s smirk widened as he eyed her knowingly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the exponential increase in couples recently, Miss Granger. I may be stuck on this wall, but the outside news doesn’t escape my ears.”

The gears in Hermione’s head began to spin furiously. “What do you mean ‘what’s been going around?’ I just thought it was…post-war high spirits and lingering effects of wartime last-ditch proclamations of love.”

“Don’t be so unfeeling now, young lady,” chided the gentleman. “There’s _magic_ in the air.”

_And with all this romantic atmosphere, disaster’s in the air._

She covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Really, though. The song was just so applicable; she couldn’t help herself. At least she hadn’t sung it out loud.

“You may laugh, Miss Granger, but it’s true. This isn’t wartime or post-war effects, you know,” insisted the gentleman. “This is magic at its most natural level.”

Hermione’s smile began to fade as what he was saying really sunk in. He didn’t mean it figuratively like Muggles did. He meant it _literally_.

“What could have caused it then?” asked Hermione. “It’s been two years since the end of the war. Why is it happening now?”

The gentleman shrugged, pulling his monocle back out and smoothing the pages of his book. “Who could really say?”

She’d make a mistake. Oh, no. He was exhibiting the signs of someone finished with a conversation.

“But, sir—”

“Oh, come now, Miss Granger,” said the gentleman as he lifted his book. “Are you or are you not the Brightest Witch of the Age?”

“Well, that’s simply a title people gave me,” she argued. “That’s not my entire identity.”

“ _You_ earned the title, Miss Granger. Live up to it.” He licked his finger and turned a page on his book. “You’re at school. If you’ve got a question, ask a teacher.”

“But, _sir_ …”

He broke eye contact to focus on his book, his steel grey eyes focused intently on the words in front of him. He’d checked out of the conversation.

Well, at least Fred was right. Portraits certainly keep secrets. Even if he hadn’t divulged all the information, however, at least now it was confirmed that this _wasn’t_ natural.

“Hermione!”

Speak of the devil.

Hermione turned to see Fred jogging toward her with a devious grin. He glanced at the painting of the gentleman and waved. “Good morning, Professor Zuberlitt!”

The gentleman—Professor Zuberlitt—didn’t look up from his book, merely waving his hand at Fred in a gesture that could be taken as either a “hello” or “shoo.”

“Always a pleasure, Professor.” Fred turned to her, eyes gleaming. “So I cornered Nicky, right?”

Hermione glowered at him for Sir Nicholas’s sake. Honestly, that poor ghost suffered enough.

“I harangued him into answering a few _choice questions_ , if you know what I mean, and he says the best source of information around here is Flitwick. If we want to know more about this whole ‘Matchmaking Love Bug Phenomenon’ of yours, he’s the part-goblin to ask.”

Professor Zuberlitt snorted derisively.

Fred snorted right back, glaring at the portrait. “Do _you_ know someone better then, Professor?”

“Yes, and it certainly isn’t the bloody _Charms_ professor,” grumbled Zuberlitt. “If you want to know about Levitating Charms or Cheering Charms, you ask Fli-twit. If you want to know about ancient magic, you ask the _History_ _of_ _Magic_ professor. Ridiculous.”

Fred slowly to Hermione with a grin that would have the devil himself bowing in admiration. “Like I said before— _always_ a pleasure, Professor Zuberlitt.” Fred clasped her hand and dragged her off again, chortling to himself as they strode toward the History of Magic classroom.

“You _planned_ that!” cried Hermione, impressed.

“Of course I did! I just hassled Sir Nick for a bit since I _knew_ Zuberlitt would be _dying_ to chat with you, and I figured you’d figure things out and do your best to wheedle some information out of him. He’s the old History of Magic Professor before Binns, so I hoped he’d tell you more. When he clammed up after you asked him too many direct questions, I decided to take a different approach.”

“So Sir Nicholas never told you Professor Flitwick would be able to enlighten us?”

“No. I think I reduced the poor ghost to tears,” answered Fred, looking a bit guilty. “He glided into a wall, but I heard some distinctive sniffling. All I did was tell him his brocaded jacket looked very blood-spattered. Anyway, Zuberlitt and Flitwick were _big_ rivals back in the day, apparently, so dropping old Filly’s name was certain to get a rise out of Zuberlitt. I wasn’t sure he’d tell us exactly who we could go to, but fortune’s in our favor, eh?”

“I’ll agree with that once we’ve gotten what we came here for,” said Hermione, pulling him along until they finally reached the History of Magic classroom on the first floor.

Thankfully, class was already in session, which meant Binns _had_ to be present. No one was entirely sure where the ghost drifted off to when he didn’t have class. She and Fred snuck inside and stood in the very back.

History of Magic had been and continued to be a free period and nap time for the students. At least five boys were dead asleep on their desks, drooling into their books and parchments. Two pairs of girls were passing notes—though it was more like blatantly chucking wads of paper at each other since discretion was wholly unnecessary at that point.

“And so the Goblin Wars of—”

“Excuse me, Professor?”

The students looked up at the sudden intrusion, balking at something _remotely_ interesting happening during class. Two war heroes—the famous Hermione Granger and Fred Weasley, no less—walking in was surely going to be the most excitement they’d get in that class for the next few years.

Fred nearly burst out laughing. “Woman, put your hand down. You’re not in school anymore.”

She glared at him, though she did lower her hand. “Fred, stop it. Professor Binns?”

Binns anemically looked up from his notes and regarded Hermione with a woeful sigh. “Yes, Grennins?”

Ignoring his mistake, Hermione pushed on. “Professor, I’d just like to know if you could tell us anything about…erm, _ancient magic_?”

The shift from mild catatonia to full lucidity was visible enough for the students to straighten up completely, staring back and forth between the professor and the visitors.

“Miss Grant, where _are_ your school robes, and why on earth are you asking about ancient magic?” asked Binns, peering at the intruding pair curiously.

Hermione fidgeted with her hands until Fred took one and squeezed.

“Well, you see, Binnsy, we were wondering if it could, you know, make an entire community start falling in love with each other,” said Fred simply.

The students broke out into surprised whispers.

“It’s true!” called out one boy with unusually big ears. “My aunt and her stepbrother absolutely _hated_ each other’s guts not three months ago, and now they won’t stop snogging.”

“Have you _seen_ the amount of couples in this school _alone_?” added a girl with bright red-rimmed glasses.

“I _knew_ it was unnatural,” said the auburn-haired boy sitting at the nearest desk. He turned around to address Fred and Hermione, revealing his eye patch. “You think it’s ancient magic that’s doing all this? Getting Gryffindors and Slytherins to fall in love when they’ve spent the last few millennia hating each other’s very _air_?”

“Aye,” answered Fred seriously.

The boy snickered and grinned up at Fred. Hermione didn’t know whether to cry, laugh, or hit Fred. So she just turned back to Binns.

“Sir?” she prompted him again before he could zone off. “Ancient magic?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” sighed Binns. “Ancient magic is exactly that— _ancient_.”

“Like you,” muttered Fred, earning another laugh from the auburn-haired boy.

“It’s the old magicks, the powers deep in the earth, the—”

 _“Ancient magic?”_ asked Hermione pointedly, hoping to hint for the old ghost to be a bit more concise.

“Yes, well, I’m not surprised you all have to ask about it. Back in my day, it was legend, and now it’s completely phased out of the culture to where hardly anyone knows about it anymore.” Binns dolefully shook his head. “Ancient magic, children, is what supposedly runs deep in the earth, bestowing magic upon the earliest witches and wizards and spawning all the magical creatures we know today.”

“Must be powerful stuff then,” said another boy, yawning.

 _“Obviously,”_ drawled a girl with long, jet-black hair.

“So, do you think it’s the ancient magic causing everyone to fall in love?” asked Hermione.

“I suppose that’s not too outrageous a thought considering the population has been going down,” said Binns. “Take it as magic’s way of fixing a problem.”

“What? It notices that there’s not enough witches and wizards in the world, so it makes the community randy so as to repopulate?” asked a girl with an elaborate braid snaking around the crown of her head. “That’s so...”

“Sexy?” offered the boy next to her. “Literally?”

“Don’t be crass,” said the girl disdainfully. “It’s _barbaric_ , is what it is.”

“But it certainly would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?” asked another boy, one with his hair gelled up and toward the middle in a Mohawk-type hairdo. “Better than…targeting Muggle orphanages and bombarding them with all-Muggleborns, I reckon.”

“Why would that be a bad thing?” asked another girl on the other side of the classroom.

Fred snorted. “You think it’s a good idea putting a bunch of children with accidental magical abilities all under one roof with clueless Muggles? That’s a nightmare even for a witch or wizard.”

In a moment that would go down in Hogwarts history, Professor Cuthbert Binns snorted in a moment of uncharacteristic _personality_. “I can attest to that.”

* * *

Hermione was not usually one for barging into people’s offices without even sending a memo beforehand, but she was just in one of those moods that day. Time was not necessarily of the essence, but her cheerfulness was spurred by her excitement over discovering new information and a previously-unknown method of obtaining said new information.

She didn’t exactly bang open the door and stomp in, but she may as well have for all Percy’s reaction. He looked two parts surprised and one part irritated, his blue feather quill snapped in his tightly-clenched fist.

“Fred is rubbing off on you,” he stated flatly.

“In all the wrong ways?” she finished for him knowingly, one eyebrow raised as she deposited herself in the chair in front of his desk.

“Even if it was in the right way, it’d be wrong,” he groused, picking up his wand and repairing his quill.

Hermione laughed. He was prone to shield his comments back while they were in school, but now he didn’t seem at all inclined to keep up the filter. As pompous as he was, Percy was just as much a brother to Fred, George, and Ginny Weasley and their sharp tongues.

Percy sighed and leaned back into his chair, folding his hands together on his desk. “How can I help you, Hermione?”

“Fred and I’ve figured it out,” she answered, eyes bright. “It’s _literally_ something in the water.”

Percy blinked and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Repeat that, please?”

Hermione leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “We went to Hogwarts, where we found out that the most likely culprit for what’s happening is ancient magic.”

“That’s lore.”

“So were the Deathly Hallows.”

“Touché.”

“Fred mentioned it as an offhand comment—Muggle idiom—but it made sense,” continued Hermione. “We’d asked Binns, and he kept stressing how ancient magic was _natural_ magic, so it would make sense that it would take root and spread through natural means. That didn’t leave us a solid answer for how it was doing so, so Fred, er, had the somewhat creative idea to pretend to the be the ancient magic and theorize a way to infect the people.”

Percy just watched her explain amusedly.

“It turns out that only the Wizarding community, not necessarily those with magical blood itself, was being affected—witches, wizards, and even _Squibs_. The Muggleborns’ families were immune. Fred and I looked up statistics of Muggleborn families, but they don’t show any boom in marriages or pregnancies in the same pattern as the Wizarding community. So we figured it couldn’t be ancient magic working in the blood of the people.”

Percy nodded along.

“It was because of the involvement of Squibs and the disregard of Muggleborn families that meant the key to the whole thing, though it was Fred’s offhand comment that helped us find the key. Squibs, even though they are pristinely un-magical, are still present in the community, as a part of their magical families.”

 _“There must be something in the water,”_ muttered Percy, eyes narrowing. His eyes snapped wide and he smiled. “It’s environmental.”

Hermione grinned. “Exactly. It couldn’t be in the air because it would’ve passed up into Scandinavia by now, and since the Swedes, Nords, and Finns haven’t said much about love in the air, we can safely say it’s not in the air. It couldn’t be in the earth either since that just doesn’t make sense. Transmission by water was the answer. That was why only the magical community was affected without Muggle relatives being in the mix. That’s why it was localized on the island. That’s why it’d come in gradually.”

“So how are you planning on proving that?” asked Percy.

“That’s where you come in,” answered Hermione. “If it’s affecting an entire island’s magical community, it has to be generating a sizeable magical energy reading. All we’d have to do is locate it and go from there.”

Percy smirked. “Go with the flow, perhaps?”

“And _I’m_ the one the others are rubbing off on too much?”

Percy shrugged coolly. “Where do I come into the picture?”

“You’re the one with the locator potion,” replied Hermione plainly.

Percy, unbeknownst to his family, had done his part to contribute to Order of the Phoenix efforts despite his position within the Ministry. He’d concocted a potion—bright and lime-green—that, when spread over a map or a globe, would zero in on areas that have large accumulations of magical energy to find Voldemort’s various hideouts and caches.

He’d ensured and commanded the potion’s secrecy since he was well on his way to becoming a conspiracy theorist in his own right. His unfailing trust in the Ministry had backfired magnificently and scarred him for life so only _he_ knew the ingredients and brewing instructions. If anyone wanted the potion, they’d have to ask Percy for it.

Merlin knows even if anyone tried to spy on him, they would see him assembling a randomized rotation of nine extra, unnecessary potion ingredients that he pretended to throw into the cauldron, which a simple sleight of hand would hide.

Percy nodded and began stacking the parchments on his desk. “Very well. Pull that map from the wall and put it here.”

Hermione stood and levitated the map of the island onto the desk while Percy reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial filled with the lime-green potion. He pulled off the cork and siphoned the viscous fluid out with his wand, spreading it in the air before slowly lowering it onto the map in an even layer.

The potion made the entire surface of the map glow, but the longer they waited, the light slowly began to recede into a smaller total area, as if pulling in on itself.

“So,” said Percy, taking advantage of the wait. “You and Fred, eh?”

Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Her lip twitched at the expression on his face—a wry twist of his mouth that showed he was very much related to his good-natured family, albeit a bit less tolerant of certain brands of buffoonery.

She smiled, as both a response to his question and a reaction to his expression. Percy grinned, blue eyes dancing. In that moment, Hermione wished she was more of a photographer.

They turned their attention back to the light, inching into smaller spaces until pinpricks of light dotted the island. Hermione could pick out Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, Hogsmeade, the Ministry, St. Mungo’s, and Hogwarts, but a few were a bit less famous.

“Dartmoor,” said Percy, pointing. “Pistyll Rhaeder. Tintagel. Newgrange.” His finger moved over the a droplet the size of an accidental ink drop that glowed brighter than any of the other specks. “There.”

“Glastonbury?” asked Hermione. “Glastonbury Tor?”

Percy nodded. “The Chalice Well.”

“Doesn’t that have more Christian ties than… _magical_?” She rubbed her jaw, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes—to the blood of Christ Himself and to the Holy Grail, but the well could just be a well, Hermione. It might not need to have been made by Druids or Merlin and Morgana themselves,” said Percy. “The Chalice Well pumps twenty-five thousand gallons of water, and from what I’ve seen about resource management here in the Ministry, most of that water goes to major Wizarding communities across the island—Diagon, Hogsmeade, St. Mungo’s…”

They both stood silently, frowning down at the map.

“This doesn’t change anything,” said Percy.

“No, but I was expecting something a bit more natural. Not an actual… _well_ ,” muttered Hermione, fiddling with the end of a lock of her hair. “This would mean human involvement would be a bit easier than we thought. Even if it was ancient magic, there could still be people who seek to poison the water supply with a spell or potion of their own making that could…potentially mimic the effects of true love in the beginning before something catastrophic could happen afterward.”

Percy nodded slowly. “There are still a lot of uncertainties about potential Dark wizard involvement.” He waved his wand over the map, and the lights dimmed so the map was back to normal.

Hermione sighed and raked her fingers through her hair. “But you’re right. It doesn’t change anything. I still need to get down there and see what’s going on. Maybe bring back a few water samples to test.” She levitated the map back onto the wall. “I’ll be off then.”

“Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Bring backup.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of a castle full of students with PTSD was an eye-opener that originated from a Tumblr post about how students who return to Hogwarts were seemingly unaffected by the fact that they’d just been right smack in the middle of a war, survivors of a massive battle. It was something that I felt needed to be addressed in any fic that involved a glimpse of Hogwarts.


	4. Data Collection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fleshed out this chapter a lot since it’s separated from the other section, so it’s fairly new. This was so much fun to write.  
> I’m also going to take this time to put a disclaimer on the layout of the well since I have no idea what it looks like down there. I have taken great liberties on various descriptions. All I can see from the pictures is the well cover, the iron grate, and the plants that are sticking out.

**3  
_Data Collection_**

* * *

All things considered, Hermione may have thought to bring a better set of people to accompany her down a well that was causing hundreds of thousands of people to fall in love. But in all honesty, she could have brought worse.

She’d chosen three to accompany her to Glastonbury, to the famed Chalice Well with its red, iron-infused waters late at night since it was still a Muggle tourist spot. They couldn’t very well snoop around with their wands out in the middle of the day unless they were planning to put on a show for the Muggles.

Ron had been less than enthused, of course, considering it was past his bedtime. Fred and George, on the other hand, were giddy. Hermione wasn’t quite sure if it was actually supplemented by the egregious amounts of caffeine they imbibed in preparation for their nightly adventure or if it was their natural enthusiasm for treasure hunting that spurred them on.

Ultimately, the combination _really_ could have been worse.

As soon as Hermione, Fred, George, and Ron Apparated to the iron and wood well cover, the moment their feet touched the soft grass and uneven cobblestone of the small pathway, they all immediately crouched down, lowering their centers of gravity as they wobbled unsteadily. The magic of the well bore down on them, somehow both weighing them down and lightening their bones.

“Yes,” wheezed Hermione, grimacing and taking a deep breath. “This is the place.”

It wasn’t a _sensation_ , really. It wasn’t physical warmth or humidity in the air. It wasn’t anything they could smell, see, or touch. It was more powerful than anything any of them had every felt. Unlike the heat and electrically-charged atmosphere of the Battle of Hogwarts, where the air has been saturated with magic that made the hairs on their arms stand on end, the night air surrounding Glastonbury Tor was a different kind of magic that shrouded them. One that was much less dangerous, but infinitely more powerful.

“Oh, bloody hell,” muttered George, grabbing Fred.

“No, no, no,” muttered Ron, paling. He scrambled over to George and Fred, clutching both their shoulders as he looked between them. “Are you all right? What’s wrong? G-George—don’t—what’s the matter?”

George patted Ron on the side of his neck and held his little brother. “It’s not that, mate. I’m fine.”

“We’re fine,” said Fred, mirroring his twin on Ron’s other side, the corners of his lips turning down as tears welled in his eyes. “Are _you_?”

Ron’s lip trembled, shaking his head. “I was bloody _terrified_ , did you know that? Scared the living shit out of me.”

“I know, baby brother,” said Fred. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m right here. I’m fine.”

“But what if you’re not?” asked Ron, his voice so fragile as he gripped his brothers so hard, as if holding them tightly enough would protect them. “Fucking surprised you two idiots managed to survive the war even before the battle. Surprised the joke shop wasn’t _blasted_ apart and burned to bits while we were on the run.”

George laughed thickly, tears dripping down his nose. “Glad to know you had such faith in us.”

“Fuck off, mate,” laughed Ron. “My faith that you two were cunning enough to escape danger, even through sheer dumb luck, was probably what kept you alive.”

“Which is it, Ronnie?” chuckled Fred, sniffling loudly. “Your faith, our cunning, or our sheer dumb luck?”

Ron’s smile faded as he swallowed and clamped his hands down harder on Fred and George. “…bloody scared me.”

“Like you didn’t bloody scare _us_ , mate,” said Fred. “Dragons? Basilisks? Convicts and deranged Dark wizards?”

“If you’re surprised the joke shop’s still standing today, I’m surprised you haven’t lost at least a few appendages,” added George.

Ron shook his head and looked between his twin brothers, a triangle in the solemn moonlight of the Tor. He opened his mouth to say something, when Hermione suddenly wailed, already sobbing, full steam ahead.

“Why can’t you—bloody idiots—just say ‘I love you’—and be done with it?!” she blubbered.

Fred affectionately smacked Ron upside the head to pull Hermione into a tight hug. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said. “This is just how brothers do it.”

A heavy weight on their sides signaled George’s arrival into Fred and Hermione’s hug. It was quickly supplemented by Ron’s weight on their other side, even if only as insurance that the only two romantically-inclined people were _disinclined_ to do anything involving romance.

“Boys are stupid,” said George.

Ron sighed. “We’re a study unto ourselves—”

Hermione head shot up from where it’d been resting on Fred’s shoulder. She blinked, shook her head, and ducked out from under the hug.

“Study!” she hissed, rubbing her temples and pinching her cheeks. “Study, study, study!”

“What is it?” asked Fred, rushing over to grasp her hands and look her over. “Darling, are you all right?”

“ _Study_ , Fred! We have to test the waters of the well, remember?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face to try and pull him out of the magic-induced stupor of love they’d all fallen into. “The magic’s affecting us, getting us off track.”

Fred, undeterred by her words, snatched her hand to kiss her knuckles. “Really? I’ve never felt more focused in my life.”

George groaned,  pulling up the front of his shirt to wipe the tears and snot off his face. “Merlin help us if we’re gonna keep crying all bloody night.”

Ron combed his fingers through his hair and whined in the back of his throat. “I just want to sleep. Even Luna said me not being in bed with her is a disruption of her sleeping patterns.”

“That’s reasonable,” said George, wiping the undersides of his eyes with his fingers. “Even for Luna.”

“I paraphrased,” said Ron. “She said it involved something about _toindills_. I didn’t ask for an explanation.”

Soft whispers pulled Ron and George out of their brief conversation, turning to Fred and Hermione. Their hands were clasped now, foreheads touching as he held her closely, swaying side to side in a dance to a song that the magic supplied only them. All they needed were fireflies or sparkles of light swirling around to complete the picture.

“After this is over,” muttered Fred softly, “you and I will—”

“Keep it safe for innocent ears!” interrupted George as he hauled Fred away, under a small copse of trees. “Ronnie’s too young for such language.”

“Shut it!” protested Ron, tugging Hermione over to the well cover and interrupting the spell. “We shouldn’t interrupt their lov— _the bloody hell am I saying_?! We need to get through this _quickly_!”

Hermione blinked, shaking her head again. “All right, all right—sorry—it’s just—”

George patted her back understandingly. “The magic and the natural Weasley twin charm is powerful stuff, Hermione. I completely understand your struggle.”

“We need to focus,” said Ron. “We get in, get out, and figure out what’s going on. Fred, stop making googly eyes at Hermione.”

Hermione groaned and looked straight up at the sky to avoid Fred’s entrancing gaze. “I knew it’d be a good idea to bring siblings.”

“What? Why?” asked George.

“Because it seemed that it was primarily romantic love that was being tampered with by the natural magic,” said Hermione. “I figured that if we went down to its very source, its effects would be enhanced tenfold. I hoped familial ties would negate its effects.”

“So why were getting so weepy regardless?” asked Ron. “It wasn’t romantic.”

“No, but it was love, regardless,” answered Hermione.

“Brotherly love is strong, but no matter how deep that kind of water runs, it’s quite still,” added George sagely, using two hands to restrain Fred and turn him around so he couldn’t look at Hermione anymore. “And Hermione, love, stop licking your lips like that. I do want nieces and nephews, but not right this minute.”

“So, wait, if you knew that it’d affect romantic notions, why’d you bring Fred?” asked Ron.

“Because I wasn’t going to bloody let her go down some well without me!” cried Fred incredulously, as if the answer was obvious.

“And honestly, he’d insinuated himself in this issue long before the well was even in the picture,” said Hermione. “I couldn’t stop him then, and I couldn’t stop him now.”

“Well, keeping you two separate is gonna be just another hindrance,” said Ron. “I say we tie him to a tree and leave him until we’re done.”

Hermione snorted. “Because Muggles would certainly take that very well.”

“We’ll Disillusion him.”

“That won’t stop me from yelling.”

“Fred, you’re my brother and I’d throw myself in front of danger for you, mate, but I’ve been itching to put a silencing spell on you since _birth_. Don’t give me an inkling of a reason to fulfill all my dreams now.”

“Ronnie, have I ever told you how much I love your wit?”

“Shut up, Fred.” Ron heaved open the well cover and peered in through the iron grating, crouching down to push aside some of the foliage that had grown in the way. “Looks like a two-meter drop into water.”

“Bubble-Head Charms,” said Hermione, peeling off her jumper and trousers to reveal the Muggle wetsuits she’d brought. “You’re all wearing the suits I brought, right?”

George immediately clamped his hand over Fred’s mouth, knowing exactly what would come out of it. “Aye,” he said for the both of them.

“I’ll go first,” said Ron, shucking his own clothes and passing them to Hermione, who stuffed them into the small waterproof, charmed bag. “Hermione will follow, and then George and Fred. If we need to split up, Hermione will stay with me.”

“So we _will_ be bringing Fred along?” asked George, tossing Hermione his and Fred’s clothes.

“We need all the eyes we can get with this,” sighed Ron dejectedly, clearly wanting to tie up and silence his brother.

Hermione pulled a shrunken wooden chest from her pocket, restored it to its true size, and opened it to pull out several empty glass phials. She handed the chest to Ron, who then passed it to George. “You’ll need these to collect water and earth samples from different sections of the well.”

Ron levitated the iron grate from the well opening and set it aside gently. He sat on the lip of the well, saluted the others, and slipped down. A soft splash signaled his arrival, and Hermione soon followed.

“Charms up,” ordered Ron as soon as Hermione resurfaced, pushing her hair out of the way and glancing up at the moon-like well opening.

They both cast the Bubble-Head Charms and dove down, giving George and Fred space when they joined them only seconds later.

Ron was the first to light his wand, revealing the dark well system, which was another six meters deep before it led to three other tunnels, branching off from the main cavern.

Bubbles already billowing from the bridges of their noses and down to their chests like beards of air, Fred and George joined Ron and Hermione at the mouth of the middle tunnel. Fred immediately floated to Hermione’s side, but George and Ron tugged them apart.

Ron used to fingers to motion his and Hermione’s intent to search the middle tunnel and another two fingers to motion Fred and George to the right. He pointed down and then at his watch before holding up two fingers and then an _O_ with his thumb and index— _meet back here in twenty minutes._

George nodded, as he’d physically turned Fred around to keep him from looking at Hermione, who’d also been turned around by Ron, who’d rolled his eyes and shaken his head.

And so the pairs took off down their respective tunnels, wands aloft, casting a silver sheen to the greenish-blue waters, an eerie and magical atmosphere that they glided through. The pressure of the magic was still present, thoughts of their loved ones distracting them slightly as they scoured the tunnels for any sign of contaminants—glowing rocks, glowing algae, anything.

Ron and Hermione swam several meters until the bottom of the tunnel began to rise, leading them to surface, ending the Bubble-Head Charms to continue their way on foot.

“Is there something less obvious that I should keep an eye out for?” asked Ron as Hermione crouched down to retrieve a water and earth samples.

“I’m not even sure of what I’m supposed to be looking for,” sighed Hermione, looking around the rocky tunnel. “Any plant that looks out of the ordinary or rather is not native to the area would be the best bet, but even still…”

Ron scowled and led the way into the dark tunnel, their footsteps clattering against the pebbles. They took their time to case the area, paying careful attention to every detail. However, ten minutes into their search, a different sound began to filter in, echoing softly throughout the tunnel system.

“Oh, hell,” muttered Ron, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

Hermione cocked her head to the side. “Is that…?”

The Weasleys in particular had taken a very bright shine to Muggle music and could often be found whistling, humming, softly singing, or fully belting out songs.

George was a whistler. Though seemingly innocuous, the incessant and ever-present noise was evil in its own way. Not only was it utterly distracting, but the ear-worm was a bitch to get rid of—a song on loop in the back of people’s heads.

Fred was the belter. Certainly more blatant in its level of annoying, it was nevertheless just as painful and loathsome. Especially when George’s whistling was suddenly joined by the song’s unmistakable lyrics, the two sounds skittering through the tunnels and resonating through the rocks. Apparently, they’d been forced to surface as well.

_“Ooh-ooh, don’t, baby, please don’t go.”_

The warmth in Hermione’s chest swelled as Fred’s voice echoed, and her eye twitched as she fought to focus.

_“And if you leave me now, you’ll take away the very heart of me. Ooh-ooh, don’t, baby please don’t go. Ooh-ooh, girl, I just want you to stay.”_

“I will throttle him,” growled Ron.

The next verse was sung with two voices. _“A love like ours is love that’s hard to find. How could we let it slip away?”_

Ron growled again. “And he just _has_ to go encourage him.”

_“We’ve come too far to leave it all behind. How could we let it slip it away?”_

“Oi!” roared Ron. “Shut up!”

“Ron,” chided Hermione.

“Woman, hush, I heard you humming along,” said Ron, tugging her hair. He blamed his lack of sleep on why a small smile tried to fight through his scowl.

The twins fell silent for a while, but soon enough, another soft melody began to filter in through the earth and rocks again. And when Hermione began to hum along again, Fred and George, though they probably couldn’t have heard it, seemed to take it as their cue.

_“How deep is your love?”_

_“I really need to learn.”_

_“’Cause we’re living in a world of fools—”_

_“—breaking us down—”_

_“—when they all should let us be.”_

_“We belong to you and me.”_

Ron could only roll his eyes and trudge on.

“ _And you come to me on a summer breeze, keep me warm in your love then you softly leave.”_

_“And it’s me you need to show—how deep is your love?”_

“Shut it!” cried Ron. “Just shut it!”

Hermione laughed, patting Ron’s back where he was bellowing at the tunnel wall.

 _“The first time ever I saw your face,”_ sang the twins, bringing Hermione to a new round of laughter. _“I thought the sun rose in your eyes.”_

Ron whimpered, looking for all the world like he was about to start bashing his head against the rocks. “I will break both their necks.”

_“And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave to the dark and the endless night.”_

“I thought you loved your brothers,” chuckled Hermione.

_“My love.”_

“Love hurts, Hermione,” grumbled Ron.

“ _And the first time ever I kissed your mouth—”_

“NO!” screeched Ron.

_“I felt the earth move through my hands like the trembling heart of a captive bird that was there at my command, my love.”_

“No, no, no, no!” yowled Ron. He rounded on his laughing best friend. “Is this idiot really want you want to live with for the rest of your life, Hermione?”

She only shrugged, still smiling. “He makes me smile, Ron. Makes me laugh, makes me feel lighter—like I could hold his hand and just take off into the sky.”

_“And the first time ever I lay with you—”_

“Merlin,” sighed Ron, shaking his head.

_“—I felt your heart so close to mine.”_

Hermione tucked her hand into the crook of Ron’s elbow and leaned her head on his shoulder, biting her lip as Fred and George continued to sing.

“I’ll kill him if he hurts you,” said Ron. “You know that, right?”

Hermione nodded.

_“The first time ever I saw your face...”_

“Just because you and I didn’t work out doesn’t make me love you any less, Hermione.”

“I know, Ronald.”

_“….your face…”_

“And if hadn’t already figured it out—you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”

She grinned. “Of course.”

_“…your face.”_

“If you two don’t shut up right now, I’ll start singing!” called Ron.

And so ended the brief concert of Fred and George Weasley in the depths of the Chalice Well, much to Hermione’s unending amusement.

Ron and Hermione eventually reached the end of their tunnel, having dived back down into another cave of water and finding nothing of import but still retrieving water and earth samples.

They swam back into the main cavern, where Fred and George were already waiting, practicing lazy backstrokes across the surface of the water. Ron was the first to surface, which George took as his cue to push Fred around to face the wall.

Fred sighed. “Bloody ridiculous, this.”

“If we don’t do this, Freddie, _you and Hermione_ wind up being bloody ridiculous,” said George.

“Ridiculously _gorgeous_ together,” grumbled Fred.

Hermione surfaced seconds later, rolling her eyes at George’s greeting of a wink. “Did you two manage to find anything? Aside from good harmonies?”

“Thank you, Hermione!” George beamed. “But, no, apart from some pebbles and algae, the left side was a bust. We did get some water and dirt.”

“The same goes for the middle,” said Hermione. “I don’t know whether or not to hope that we’ll find something in the last tunnel.”

“Let’s not waste any time then shall we? We’ll all go down the right tunnel,” said Ron. “Bubble-Head Charms up.”

Obeying the Auror’s orders, they all threw up the charms and dove back down to the last tunnel, Ron taking point, Hermione at his heels, George right behind her, and then Fred taking up the rear.

The right tunnel turned out to be the biggest, the walls at least eight meters in diameter, giving room for Hermione to swim alongside Ron to further the distance between her and Fred, who was constantly trying to overtake George to get closer to her.

As it had been for the left and middle tunnels, there was nothing apart from dirt, rocks, and algae, so when they surfaced at another tunnel, they took a break to collect samples.

“So, Ronnie, you’d prefer we not sing, right?” asked Fred, sitting in front of the wall where George was standing guard.

“I actually prefer no one make a noise until we get back to Diagon, but I doubt you’re going to listen,” said Ron.

“I knew you learned,” said Fred happily. “Hermione?”

“For Godric’s sake,” muttered Ron.

“Yes, Fred?”

“Do you remember when we were sitting around Grimmauld Place, drunk off our arses, and you’d somehow managed to wrap your scarf around your head like a turban?”

“And then I started crying because I realized I was so drunk that I completely forgot that I’d done it,” sighed Hermione, shaking her head at herself despite her rueful smile.

“And as soon as you cried about three tears, you immediately switched to giggles until you were laughing at yourself so hard that you started gasping that you were going to pee yourself.”

Hermione blushed, wincing as she stood up from where she was bent over the shallow water, filling the phials. “Why are you reminding me of that?”

Fred tossed a pebble against the wall and caught it when it rebounded. “Because that’s when I started to fall for you, love.”

George gasped, clutching his chest and looking back and forth between the two lovebirds—Fred fingering the pebble and Hermione nearly melting into the water.

She grinned so wide, almost forgetting to stopper the phials before stowing them back into a pocket on her suit. “Fred…”

“And _that’s_ our cue to get going,” grumbled Ron, pulling Hermione up to her feet and motioning for George to do the same for Fred.

“Now, it wasn’t as if I fell for you purely because you managed to laugh so hard as to almost pee,” continued Fred as they made their way into the dark tunnel, “but it was like a catalyst, you know?”

“This can’t be happening,” muttered Ron, who was shushed by both Hermione and George.

“It was when I looked at you and knew that this was a girl that I’d look damn-stupid for without even thinking I was being stupid,” said Fred. “I always thought buying flowers and chocolate and candlelit dinners and lazy Sundays were absurd, romantic tropes, but you make me want to do them, Hermione—do it and _enjoy_ it. Are you following?”

“Yes,” croaked Hermione, nodding even through he couldn’t see her.

“No,” rasped Ron, wishing he could be anywhere else.

“It’d been building up, I suppose,” said Fred. “I’d hardly claim that it’d been a gradual thing since your first year or something outrageous like that—”

“That’d be quite disgusting,” said Ron.

“—but I think I’d been attracted to you long before the Battle of Hogwarts, whether I realized it or not. That night at Grimmauld was the point where the unconscious turned into conscious—an active thing. That’s when I knew and didn’t know all at once.”

“Is it strange that I’m both happy and disgusted to hear this?” asked Ron.

“Hush,” said George.

“I knew that I wanted to be with you, but I didn’t know _how_ ,” said Fred, his voice rising in excitement. “I didn’t want to push you into anything or ruin our friendship and my relationship with Ronnie either—”

“No worries, mate.”

“Thanks, brother,” said Fred, sounding genuinely surprised and happy at Ron’s support. “So I was at a loss. Now that I knew what I was feeling, I didn’t know what I was doing—it’s a disorienting dilemma, honestly. I don’t know how anyone’s managed to do anything about it. I was stuck in a limbo.”

“I know the feeling,” said Hermione, finally releasing her bottom lip from her teeth, a gesture which let loose the grin that had been trying to bloom on her face. “I didn’t have some climactic epiphany either; it didn’t crash on me like a wave.”

“It was like being out in the middle of the water, without having even paid attention to when I’d waded out into the depths,” offered Fred.

“Yes, exactly!”

George looked like he was about to swoon, Ron about to throw up.

“But you finally decided to act,” said Hermione. “What, erm, made you change your mind?”

“You mean what made me _make up_ my mind?” asked Fred, sniffing contemplatively. “I suppose what spurred me is going to make you think I’m some sort of caveman, but on the vein of truth we’ve been sailing along, I’d have to say it was when you and I put Teddy to sleep that one night.”

“You two can be sure I’m going to save this memory in McGonagall’s Pensieve,” said George.

“We sang him that lullaby, and I realized that it was something I couldn’t leave as a _what-if_ for the sake of our friendship,” said Fred.

Shaking his head, Ron finally stopped and turned to address their small group. “All right, for the sake of my _sanity_ , how about we tone down the professions of love for more private circumstances, eh? Not saying that I don’t like all the love in the air and whatnot, but there are certain things that I really don’t need to hear.”

“He’s right, turtledoves,” said George, shooing Ron to keep going forward. “As romantic as this all may be, we need to focus on the task at hand—that task being to get out of here as soon as possible before we all disintegrate into puddles of tears and affection.”

“Thanks, mate,” said Ron.

“Anytime,” said George, his chin up with pride. “Now that Hermione’s out of commission, someone has to take up the mantle of taskmaster.”

“You wear it well.”

George beamed. “Thank you, Ronnie, and frankly, you wear the mantle of leadership quite well too.”

Ron tried not to preen too much. “I suppose I _have_ been trained to keep a level head in all situations. You and Fred are pretty damned good at it too—keeping your shirt on when the world’s trying to bloody blow it off.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just me being cavalier—acting and all, mate. I’m showcasing what theatrical skills I may have,” said George, waving a hand dismissively. “And besides, I’ve neither need nor opportunity to really take up a leadership mantle in the way you did when you three were on the run and all.”

“That was hardly means to rise up as a leader, mate,” said Ron. “It was just the three of us running for our lives and trying to buy ourselves as much time to find a bunch of bloody antiques. You and Fred were here on the front lines, dancing a jig and encouraging the rest of the populace to keep their chins up in spite of the fact that most of the alley had already closed.”

“We’ve been over this, brother,” said George, trying to take an authoritative tone as the elder. “That was just us being cavalier.”

“And d’you think being a leader doesn’t entail its own set of bravado?” demanded Ron, laughing. “D’you think Harry wasn’t scared shitless when he was running around chucking spells back and forth with Voldemort? Bloke was scared enough to shit his pants because he was worried someone was gonna get caught in the crossfire, but he still pushed through with the act to try and reassure everyone else that everything would be all right.”

“You’re right,” said George, nodding.

“Being brave doesn’t mean being fearless, Georgie,” said Ron, glancing over his shoulder with a small smile.

George chuckled, and even Fred did too. “It means smiling at whatever it is you’re afraid of and realizing that by virtue of making that face—”

“—you’re that much stronger than it,” finished Fred wryly.

“Who said that?” asked Hermione.

“They did,” answered Ron. “To me.”

“Granted it was when we hid under his bed to scare him,” said Fred.

“He started screaming into his pillow so loud we were afraid Mum would come bursting in and set our arses on fire for trying traumatize Ronnie,” said George, briefly meeting Hermione’s glare. “He was, erm, five.”

Fred laughed. “We reassured him as best we could, and I suppose it resonated throughout the years.”

“Though Ronnie never did quite learn to smile at me and Fred when we were trying scare him into pissing his pants,” sighed George.

“Yeah, I just learned to scowl,” chuckled Ron. “I suppose it’s paid off. It’s become my resting expression when on the job.”

“Be careful of frowning too much, darling,” said Fred.

“Don’t want to wrinkle that pretty face of yours,” finished George.

Hermione grinned to herself, the mood light and warm. “You three realize just what you’ve done, don’t you?”

“Yes, Hermione, but you don’t need to say it aloud,” said Ron with a longsuffering sigh.

“We really need to get out of here,” grumbled George.

“Seconded,” added Fred. “If only so I can take Hermione back to—”

“All right!” interrupted Ron. “I don’t know where that statement was going to go, and I’d rather continue in ignorance.”

They reached the end of the tunnel, a wide bubble of shallow water and a cavernous ceiling. After casting a few last-ditch revealing spells, they made their way back to the entrance.

“Kinglsey’s not going to take this well,” said Fred. “Went all the way down here and haven’t got much to show for it apart from soggy plants, dirty water, and warmed heart-cockles. I think this mission’s been a bust.”

“As someone who’d been preparing for the worst, I think we all should revel in this outcome,” said Ron.

“Huzzah for soggy plants and dirty water,” deadpanned George. “I wanted to find something glowing.”

“Not everything can be a Horcrux or a Hallow, George,” said Ron.

They dove back into the water and swam to the main cavern, still taking care to pay attention to anything they might have missed during the initial foray into the tunnel. Hermione was the first to resurface, checking her pockets for her share of the phials as Ron, George, and finally Fred popped up and cancelled their Bubble-Head Charms.

“Well, now what?” sighed Ron.

“I suppose we get the samples back to Percy, who’ll most likely tell us that this is all natural magic and that we have neither room nor reason to tamper with such a powerful force,” said George. “I’m calling it now—that’ll be his words, verbatim.”

Hermione finished counting her phials and looked up to meet Fred’s brown eyes, which seemed to magnetize every cell in her body to zero in on him.

“D’you think we’ll have to come back to collect more bloody samples?” asked Ron.

Fred drifted closer to where Hermione was treading water until he was able to reach out and tug her against him, their legs brushing as they stayed afloat.

“I certainly hope not,” answered George. “Percy might try to join us. Besides, if we didn’t find anything this time, the odds of us finding anything else later is lower.”

Their foreheads pressed together again, Fred held Hermione close before ducking his head to peck her lips. The electricity that shot through her made her think that it also electrified the water of the well, and she jerked in his arms nervously, biting her lip. He grinned and kissed her again, for a little longer this time.

“What if it’s just magic that manifests when there’s no detectable magical presences?” asked Ron. “Like those Muggle motion-sensing things?”

“How would we figure that out?” asked George. “We can keep what-if-ing this, but short of resurrecting Dumbledore and forcing him to come down here to figure this out, we’ve got no options.”

Hermione tilted her head to deepen the kiss, wrapping her arms around Fred’s shoulders as she could no longer force her weak knees to work to keep her afloat.

Heat flooded her system in spite of the cold water. His tongue danced with hers slowly, making her breath hitch, which in turn made his fingers dig deeper into her waist.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Ron when he and George turned to see the pair.

“Should we just leave them?” asked George.

“It’d make a good story to tell their kids.”

“Shall we go then?”

Ron sighed. “The water’s been tainted enough as it is. Let’s not give them room to contaminate it in infinitely more disgusting ways.”

The two of them swam over, and Ron insinuated his hand between Fred and Hermione’s faces, his palm on Fred’s forehead as he pushed his brother off his best friend. “Enough—wait until the bloody bedroom.”

Pulling out his wand, George levitated Fred right up to the surface, letting his twin grab the ledge of the well and haul himself up and out. He then did the same for Ron before turning to Hermione. It was too dark to see how red her face was, but it was easy to imagine.

“All right then,” said George, casting the spell on her. “Up you go, future sister-in-law.”

Hermione scowled down at him as she drifted up the well. “Is that my new nickname?”

“Would you prefer that or _Herms_?”

“I’d prefer my _name_ , George.”

She’d just cleared the edge of the well, Ron helping her up as Fred leaned down to levitate his brother out, when she heard George’s deadpan response.

“I’d prefer to be in bed with my girlfriend right now, just as you’d prefer to be in bed with my brother, but obviously we can’t always get what we want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review with your favorite line so far in the story? I haven’t heard much from you guys, and I’d love to get some feedback. 


	5. Practical Applications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, guys, this is the newest chapter. But seriously. I crack myself up sometimes. I laughed for like three hours when I named this.  
> But then I started crying because writing these kinds of things is hard. Literally and figuratively. I don’t really do smut, so the fact that I wrote one chapter entirely devoted to it has taken me all this time.  
> Here is the warning, ladies and gents, the rating for this fic has officially gone up. Beware the incoming gratuitous smut. You can skip this if you’d rather not read such things, as this is primarily sex and fluff that is generally irrelevant to the overall plot.  
> I did not have nearly enough alcohol to write this.

**4  
_Practical Applications_**

* * *

Naked as the day they were born, Fred and Hermione sat in her claw foot tub full of bubbles and water. Astride Fred’s lap and wand hovering less than an inch from the skin of his cheek, Hermione wielded her wand deftly and gently, her other hand cupping his face in more of a reverent caress than a stabilizing action. One of the many benefits of magic was the elimination of the need for razors and the worry of getting nicked.

She tapped her wand on the edge of the tub more out of habit than real necessity. “I quite like you with a bit of scruff, you know,” she said.

“Turns my charm into something more of a rugged handsomeness?” he asked, rubbing the pads of his fingers into the smooth skin of her thighs underwater.

Hermione shrugged noncommittally, which he took to be a “yes” that her propriety kept her from verbalizing. She gauged the growing smugness on his face correctly and poked him in the chest with her free hand.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said. “I didn’t say it because I knew your ego would swell, and there’s not room enough for three in this tub.”

“There’s quite enough room in this tub, love,” said Fred. He planted his hands on her waist and dragged her closer so she rubbed against his erection. “But I quite agree—definitely not room enough for three.”

Hermione squirmed as he slowly rocked against her, clutching onto his shoulders as she groaned, pressing her forehead against his.

“Do you want to walk out of here half-shaved?” she asked unsteadily.

“No,” he replied, “I want to _carry you_ out of here and make love to you on the bed, scruff be damned.”

“Then for Godric’s sake, let me finish,” grumbled Hermione, her eye twitching as he continued grinding up into her.

She scooted back and returned to shaving his face, working more quickly and efficiently than before. His fingers kneaded into her waist, massaging her muscles and following a trail to her back. She straightened up, though still undeterred from her work. She did twitch, however, when his fingertips dipped into the dimples on her lower back, rubbing gently and making her rock on his thighs.

 _“Fred,”_ she whimpered, pausing her work again..

His hands smoothed to her front again, one snaking up to cup her breast and the other sliding down into the dark patch of curls and down to her slit. “Focus, Hermione,” he breathed, leaning close so his lips brushed hers. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

She surged forward, capturing his lips, pressing her chest against his. “Don’t—tease—me,” she growled between kisses, nipping and sucking his lips.

“All right,” he answered simply and then plunged two fingers into her wet heat, curling his fingers inward, making her cry out.

Her wand dropped into the water as she threw her head back in pleasure, moaning and whimpering as she rode his hand. He continued pumping his fingers inside her and rubbing her clit with his thumb. She gripped his shoulders tight, her nails digging in as he drove her closer to the edge, and when she made the strangled noise that he’d realized was one of her tells, he pulled his fingers out of her, lifted her up slightly, and guided her down onto his cock.

She keened, spreading her legs wider as she sank down on him fully, panting at the fullness and the inferno that unfurled all along her muscles. Waiting for her signal and not wanting to exacerbate the soreness that had been his fault, he kissed along the side of her face, trailing his lips along her jaw and rubbing her back and hips gently.

“Sweetheart,” he muttered against her skin. “I’ve got to move soon.”

Her reply was to brace her knees and raise herself up slightly, her hands still clamped on his shoulders. He hissed as she pushed herself up until only his tip rested inside her, and then he groaned when she sank back down to envelop him again.

She tried to take deep breaths as fell into a rhythm, rising and falling on him as he peppered her face, shoulders, and collarbone with hot, open-mouth kisses, his fingers working some sort of magic on her waist, hips, and back.

The water sloshed over the edge of the tub, the bubbles clinging to her skin as she rose and sank in the water. Fred smoothed his hands up her back, back down to her hips, kneading her hipbone so she whimpered in his ear.

She shifted, trying to taking him further inside her as the core-deep pleasure burned high in her throat, making her groan. He began to meet her in the middle, matching her rhythm to thrust up into her, lowering his hand to finger her clit. Hermione threw her head back, exposing her completely to his hungry gaze.

He leaned forward to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud, and she fell apart, screaming into the bathroom and drawing blood under her nails. He followed her moments later, pulling his lips from her nipple as he buried his face against her neck and grunted her name.

Gasping for air, Hermione settled back down, her cheek on his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him, his cock still nestled inside her. Once his grip loosened, she lifted herself off him, sighing as he slipped out of her. She sat on his lap again, kissing his neck and collarbone as he leaned back against the side of the tub and held her close.

“I’m never taking another bath without you,” muttered Fred, rubbing her back, his eyes falling to half-mast.

Hermione chuckled, her skin rubbing against his in such a way that made her burn for him all over again. “Even showers?”

“Oh, especially showers,” said Fred, nodding as he ran his fingertips along her spine. “Sponge-baths too. Anything that involves droplets of water running down your skin.”

“Swimming in a pool?”

 _“Definitely_.”

“What if I’m giving Teddy a bath?”

Fred stiffened and grimaced, and Hermione laughed.

* * *

Fred had kept his promise to carry her out of the bathroom and make love to Hermione on her bed, the sun high in the sky and filtering in through the filmy curtains on her window. She lay on her back, one leg tangled in the sheets while Fred lay beside her hip, running his fingertips along her thigh and occasionally pressing a kiss to her stomach. Her fingers combed his hair lazily as she continued to try to catch her breath. The sheen of sweat did nothing to cool her body.

“How many was that again?” asked Fred, his lips ghosting around her bellybutton. “Three?”

“Shut up.”

Fred chuckled, and she raised her knee to nudge him in the stomach, which only made him laugh harder.

“Are you going to keep me in this bed for the foreseeable future?” she asked. “Because we do have lives outside of it, you know.”

“They’re still testing the water,” said Fred, waving his other hand dismissively. “And we have yet to be summoned. I’m going to take advantage of that.” He pulled himself up the bed, dragging the sheets over them so he could hold her close under the covers. “But eventually, we _will_ emerge from this bedroom, you know.”

“You have the joke shop, and I have the Department of—”

“I’m not talking about work,” he said, turning onto his back and pulling her along so she rested halfway on his body. “I’m talking about the dates I’m planning to take you on.”

Hermione propped her chin on his chest, playing with his fingers. “Tell me, then. Where will you take me?”

Fred curled his arm under his head as he thought about it, his eyes tracing the lines on her ceiling. “Well, first, a beach picnic.”

“So you can throw me in the water, clothes and all?”

Fred grinned. “Naturally.”

Hermione snorted and poked his side, making him jump.

“But we wouldn’t have sex in the sand,” he said. “That’d be entirely too messy, and sand will get everywhere.”

Hermione raised her head. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“No,” he answered. “Sand gets everywhere even when I’m doing innocent things, what the more if we were doing more dirty things?”

Hermione laughed and laid her head back down. “Where else would we go?”

Fred hummed, tracing circles along her shoulder and upper arm. “I’d take you out to dinner at a Muggle restaurant. Show off my proper Muggle etiquette and to prove to you that I can move through the Wizarding and Muggle worlds like you.”

Hermione slowly lifted her head to look at him, though he didn’t meet her eyes.

“Obviously, any wizard smart enough to woo you would figure out that you’ve got a foot in both worlds.”

He could feel her intense gaze, but he still refused to look at her. Her brown eyes practically burned holes in his face as she sat up, the blanket falling to her hips as she studied his face.

“It’d only make sense that to stay with you means also being able to plant my feet where yours are too,” he finished, looking down to meet her eyes, finally, which darkened with lust as she lowered her face to his chest, kissing a trail down from his sternum to his stomach. His breath hitched as she kissed around his bellybutton the same way he’d done to her.

“Where else would you take me?” she whispered, her lips tickling his skin.

He lowered his arm to thread his fingers through her hair, running the curls between his fingers gently. “The amusement park.”

Her eyebrow cocked, pausing in her trail down his body.

“I’ve seen you laugh to tears in the context of the Wizarding world,” he replied. “I want to see you do the same in your home world as well.”

Her kisses descended to his cock, making him yelp.

“Hermione, you don’t need to—”

She brushed her lips along the length of him before taking his tip in her mouth and sucking.

“Apparently you’re going to do it anyway,” he wheezed. His face burned hot as he panted up at the ceiling.

She pulled her mouth from his prick long enough to ask, “Where else, Freddie?”

His cock twitched as he pulled his hands away from her hair in fear of pulling it. He fisted the sheets instead as he racked his brain, desperately trying to remember his list.

“H-Hogwarts,” he croaked as her tongue swirled his tip. “T-t-to the portrait room.”

“What else is in the portrait room?” she asked, her lips millimeters from his member as she wrapped her fingers around the base and began pumping him slowly.

Fred groaned long and deep, flexing his muscles to keep from doing anything rash. “The m-m-musicians,” he murmured. “Portraits of musicians who’ve, erm, practiced together f-f-for— _fuck!_ —so long. They can play for us w-w-while we dance.”

She sucked hard, making him cry out and stiffen as he tried to keep from thrusting into her mouth. When she let up, he hauled her over to him, flipping her onto her back and holding himself above her as he tested how wet she was. Seeing that she was ready, he positioned himself and thrust into her slowly.

“Why?” she asked, clutching his back as she raised her knees, letting him sink deeper inside her.

“You love classical music,” he muttered against her neck, pulling himself out of her slowly before pushing back into her wet, velvety heat. “And I never got the chance to dance with you at the Yule Ball.”

He pulled one of the pillows and tucked it under the base of her spine as he began to thrust into her in earnest. She panted his name against his lips as he moved, clutching him as close to her as possible. When her walls fluttered around him, he covered her lips with his, swallowing her cries and moans of pleasure as he continued to pump into her, letting her ride out her orgasm. When she began to sag against him, he angled his hips to hit her sweet spot, pushing her toward another orgasm that had her nails scoring lines down his back and her back arching off the bed.

Oh, _yes_ , he would definitely be taking her to dance in the portrait room.

* * *

Hermione ate her second-to-last bite of Fred’s omelet off her fork, her feet on his lap as he sipped from a cup of tea and massaged the arch of her foot with his other hand.

Dressed in nothing but his shirt, she’d ambled out of her dark bedroom, still blinking off the post-sex nap, to find Fred cooking dinner in nothing but his royal blue boxers. He’d tried to shoo her to the dining table, but she chose to hug him from behind, trailing after him as he puttered around her kitchen, putting their meal together. He nudged her to the table, putting a plate down in front of her before sitting down and digging in, her left hand claimed in his. It was one of the most domestic scenes she’d ever lived through outside her parents’ house, and she relished every second of it.

“I think I’ll propose to you at Glastonbury.”

Hermione choked on her food and stared at Fred, who smiled innocently, his fingers kneading the ball of her foot and making her eye twitch.

“Of course, I’d do it during the day this time,” he continued, his innocent smile taking a wry twist as she continued to eye him in disbelief. “And preferably when the magic of the well wears off so we’re not walking around in some sort of love struck stupor—I mean, not any more than two people in love would be in.”

“Of course,” croaked Hermione.

“Initially, I had the idea that I’d get down on one knee right at the well cover,” he said, his fingers working their magic up to her ankle. “But then I thought better of it since it’s a bloody _well_ , and it honestly didn’t hold that much emotional significance to our relationship. Right?”

Hermione nodded weakly. “Right.”

“So I decided that we’d _visit_ the Chalice Well as a little excursion, but the actual proposal itself would happen a bit away—say a nice clearing or a meadow where I’d pull out another picnic, and we would lounge about in nature. You’d be reading a book aloud while I braided locks of your hair.”

It wasn’t that she was afraid of getting married or regretting the speed at which hers and Fred’s relationship was traveling. It was more along the lines of the fact that he was telling her this at all—it was a bit of a shock. He’d previously been talking about her sheets, for Merlin’s sake. Any girl would need some recovery time if her quasi-boyfriend suddenly went from bedcovers to proposals at near-lighting speed.

“You’d eventually lose your reading light as the day progressed, so you’d reposition yourself so we could watch the sunset instead,” he said, rubbing her calf muscle in such a way that nearly made her forget the conversation entirely. “Then you’d finger your hair, checking over the plethora of braids, and then you stop because— _oh, look!_ —there’s something cool and hard woven into your hair.”

Hermione laughed, setting down her fork to pull her leg from his lap, replacing it instead with herself. She slung an arm around his shoulder as he played with her finger—her left ring finger, to be specific.

“You’d look up at me and realize I’d been staring at you for just a tad bit too long, mildly nervous behind the thick façade of bravado and cheekiness—”

“Naturally.”

“—but you’d still blush because you’d know exactly what the question would be. However, I’d know that you’d know, so I would try to defy norms—as per usual—and not ask.”

“So you’d braid a ring into my hair, but not ask me to marry you?” asked Hermione, matching his wry smile.

“No, I’d ask you if you loved the ring—loved the metal, the stone, the style, the size, and every meaning it held,” said Fred, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face and kiss her lips gently.

“You just can’t do anything the traditional way, can you?” chuckled Hermione.

Fred shrugged. “I’m a big proponent of keeping things fresh.”

“And so after we establish that I do, indeed, love the ring, where would our discussion go?” asked Hermione.

He pretended to think about it briefly, but from the way he met her gaze, she knew this wasn’t something he’d come up with on the fly. “I’d ask if you were willing to invest in that ring—in gold and time and energy and emotion. I’d ask if this was something you would bet on, if this was something you’d believe could go the distance.”

Hermione leaned forward to press her forehead against his, the tips of their noses brushing. “And when I said yes, what would you do after that?”

“I’d kiss you silly and then Apparate you straight to bed and—”

Hermione caught his lips in a bruising kiss, wishing he was wearing his shirt so she could grip his lapels and drag him even closer. Her tongue swirling along his, she gripped his biceps as she maneuvered them off the chair. He pressed her against the edge of the maple dining table, cupping her breasts through her shirt and teasing her nipples. She tugged on his thick, red hair as she tilted her face, deepening the kiss as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. When he motioned to lift her onto the table, she stopped him, pulling her lips away to study his face.

“What is it?” he asked, panting.

She glanced down at the tent in his boxers before turning in his arms and bending down to plant her hands on the table.

“Are you going to kill me before I even make my vows, love?” groaned Fred, dropping his face to the crook of her neck as he hugged her from behind.

Hermione spread her legs slightly, revealing a lack of knickers, and looked at him over her shoulder. “I’ve got to weed out the weak, don’t I?”

_“Fuck.”_

* * *

After christening the dining table and then the kitchen counters, which Hermione quickly ordered to be disinfected by both magic and Muggle means, Fred lifted her into his arms and carried her into the living room, whereupon he began to commandeer all her cushions into a nest by his newly-conjured fire.

“Fred, what _are_ you doing?” asked Hermione.

Still half-naked and holding a violet throw against his chest, he turned and smirked at her deviously. Hermione immediately knew his plan.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Half-right, darling— _absolutely._ ”

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “We’re going to make a mess.”

“Good thing we’re magical folk who can clean up messes with the utmost ease,” countered Fred, winking.

It wouldn’t be a precedent in their relationship. They’d convince each other to do certain things that they wouldn’t normally do, but making s’mores and letting Fred eat them off her body _both_ would notbe a common occurrence _and_ something Hermione wished would be.

She was certain that her mother did not intend this outcome when she taught the twins how to make the American treat.

His ministrations slowed as she came down from her high, gasping and trying to convince her hands to release their death grip on Fred’s hair before she pulled it all out. He licked his lips and began to kiss a trail back up to her lips, catching the few chocolate smudges and marshmallow bits he’d missed on the initial way down.

“You’ve ruined s’mores for me, by the way,” he muttered absently, paying special attention to the side of her breast as he stroked her thighs on either side of his hips. “I can’t eat them unless they’re off your skin.”

“Perhaps you’re biased?”

“Irrelevant.”

Hermione laughed as she kissed his way up to her cheek, an innocent gesture that made her grin and hug him tighter. He nuzzled her cheek, and she bent her legs, shifting her hips to get comfortable.

Fred chuckled. “And _I’m_ insatiable?”

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. “We can go to sleep if you’d like.”

Fred hummed, reaching down to rub the tip of his cock along her slit.

Hermione groaned, arching up into him and trying to shift her hips down to catch him. “We’re not going to sleep. We’re not going to sleep, Fred. Fred, _please_.”

He didn’t laugh again, instead gently guiding himself into her slick heat with a deep moan that reverberated through his body. Her toes curled as she lifted her hips up to pull him in deeper, panting unintelligible babbles that started with “f,” though it may not have been his name.

She grunted as he sheathed himself in her completely, hitching her knees higher along his side as he began the same slow rhythm they’d found their first time making love.

Knowing she was still sensitive enough, he brought his hand back down between them to finger her clit—rubbing, flicking, swirling.

“ _Fred,_ if you’re tr-trying to hit— _oh_ —another re-record—” She cried out, her back bowing as she raised her hips higher.

He kissed her to swallow her cries, as close as she was to the edge already. “Isn’t an issue of records, love,” he muttered, nipping her lips as she panted. “More like a point of pleasure—getting you off as many times as I can.”

She ground her head back into the pillow, keening when he reached the spot deep inside and pressing down on her bud at the same time, coming so quickly that she scraped her nails down his back in shock.

His rhythm persisted even as she came around his cock, squeezing so tightly he saw white spots. Still in the throes of her orgasm, he reared back, pulling her up along with him so she straddled his lap again. She couldn’t make any intelligible noises for a while as the new position put her on the fast track to another orgasm, riding him as thrust up into her.

Hermione was whimpering with every movement, and it was doing nothing for his stamina. He leaned back, laying down so she rode him freely, her perfect breasts bouncing as she rocked against him. In an effort to steady himself, to keep himself from coming before her, he began to babble.

“I-I wanted to let you, erm, take the reigns on the wedding.”

She froze, her eyes meeting his and darkening so quickly that he nearly lost it right then and there, no movement whatsoever. “What?!” she growled.

“Did you not want to do it?” he asked breathless. “Get marr—”

Hermione shook her head. “Finish your thought—you wanted me to take the reigns on the wedding?”

“Yes, but I have a—love, you need to _move_ , please—few ideas.”

She began to rock again, slower than before, urging him to continue with her eyes and hips.

“There’s a little wood not far from the Burrow,” he said, clamping his eyes shut and speaking through his teeth, his fingers digging into her thighs. “There’s a clearing inside it that’s absolutely beautiful—would you like to marry in the day or at night?”

“Dusk,” she panted.

“Perf— _cripes_ , Hermione, do that again—erm, that’s perfect.” He reached up to palm her breasts, massaging them so that she threw her head back, moaning. “You’ll walk in, bathed in gold, when the sun in shining between the trees, down the aisle to an archway of ivy and flowers where I’ll be waiting.”

“Fred!” she exclaimed, an exclamation of shock and pleasure.

“Hush, I’m not done yet,” he rasped. “When the light of your entrance fades, it’ll reveal you to be barefoot, your dress loose satin for optimal comfort, with a bouquet of white and purple roses. Your hair is loosely pinned, down your back but away from your face. Ginny will do it, I’m sure. She knows how.”

If she wasn’t so _fucking close_ to coming, she’d be much more impressed that he could rattle all those details off as if he wasn’t flushed and sweating from being balls-deep inside her.

“T-The reception will be out in the open,” he mumbled slightly, his speech becoming more rapid-fire, grunting as he began pushing up into her. “Cheesy as it may be, I know you want to dance under the stars. There’ll be— _holy shit—_ charmed sparkles flitting around the guests like fireflies. Practically speaking, they’ll be the mosquito repellant—”

Hermione couldn’t stop her laughter from bubbling out.

“—but they’ll also add a higher level of whimsy. They’ll distract the children from all the times I’m going to kiss or your generally be inappropriate, but since it’s our wedding, social protocol will allow us that.”

Still chuckling and rocking against him, she leaned down to kiss him, interrupting his rambling briefly.

“The no-shoes thing I had for you also benefits you here because I’ll dance every dance with you—every fast jive that’ll have you throwing your head back and laughing the way I love, every slow ballad that’ll make you tuck your head into the crook of my neck when I whisper all the dirty things I’m going to do to you.”

He began to rub her clit again, a physical promise and example of what he’d say he’d do.

“I’ll surrender you to your father, of course, but everyone else is up in the air. Harry might have to fight me.”

And with that, he flipped them over, so she was flat on her back. He lifted her ankles to his shoulders and began pumping into her in earnest.

“The odds,” he panted, “of me letting you go for longer than four minutes is low. We should probably choose our song, though.”

Hermione dug her fingers into her pillows and screamed.

“Never mind,” he muttered quietly—almost to himself. “That’ll be it.”

* * *

Percy’s owl came early the next morning, rapping on the window and rousing Hermione and Fred from where they were tangled in blankets and pillows in front of her fireplace. The test results of the water samples had just arrived, and so they were summoned from their bout of domesticity to attend the Order meeting in McGonagall’s office at Hogwarts.

After showering—which understandably took another hour—and getting dressed, they prepared breakfast, already expertly weaving and dancing around each other in the kitchen as if they’d been doing it for decades. When they sat down at the table, Fred reading the Quidditch and business sections while Hermione pored over the news, their hands naturally found each other’s.

And it was during this calm quiet that Hermione let her mind wander away from the _Prophet_.

 _Of course_ she was well aware that her relationship with Fred had rocketed off the ground faster than Harry had on his Firebolt. _Of course_ she knew that the reason why they’d barricaded themselves in her flat and made love in every room was partly because of the aftereffects of their visit to the Chalice Well.

But Hermione knew in her heart that this was it.

True, sometimes it would take years upon years for some to get to that point. Others may not need that much time, but it certainly wouldn’t be so instantaneous either. And for some special two-in-a-million, they could forego the preamble and head straight into it.

Which is what she knew she and Fred had become—the exception to the rules, _her_ rules. The map had been laid out, and all that was left were to hit the checkpoints in spite of the fact that the race had essentially been won.

Rash as it may have sounded, she realized how easy it would be to commit, how uncomplicated it was, and how excited she felt.

Fred roused her from her thoughts by squeezing her hand. “Hermione?”

“Yes?” she asked, looking up though he hadn’t taken his eyes off the paper.

“When we marry, I think I’ll take your last name.”

The fork screeched against the plate when her hand slipped. “Pardon?”

“Well, you said your father and mother are only children,” he explained, turning the page. “You don’t have any cousins—unless you count distant relatives. You’re essentially the last Granger, so I reckon that there _can be_ some merit in the popular adage that there are more than enough Weasleys in the world. So we’ll be the Grangers.”

Hermione just sat there, staring at him.

“I’ll be Fred Granger, and then we’ll have little Jason Granger followed by Graham Granger—”

“Please tell me  you did not name our potential second son after s’mores.”

“Well, Marshmallow or Chocolate Granger don’t roll off the tongue as well.”

“So if we have a third child, will you name him Crisp?”

“No, of course not! For one thing, our third child will be a girl, and we shall name her Juliana.”

Hermione shook her head laughing. “So you can call her ‘Jules’ so that you can say she’s a gem.”

Fred grinned widely and winked. “You know me so well.”

They were late to the Order meeting, having christened a few more areas of her apartment before having to finish up in the shower again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been three days since I finished writing and editing this, and I’m still blushing. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Please. 


	6. Results and Conclusions

**5  
_Results and Conclusions_**

* * *

Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace in the Headmistress’s office—thankfully a ways away from the main floor so her flushed and disheveled state wouldn’t have an audience. Fred stepped out behind her, catching her hand just in time before she smacked into a nearby table with a dish of candies, his Cheshire cat grin intact.

“Stop looking so smug,” she hissed, smoothing her hair down and looking around to make sure no one had to come to greet them.

“Then stop being so damned beautiful so I won’t have to do anything that will cause me to be so smug,” he countered, adjusting her violet scarf and dropping another kiss onto her lips.

Hermione could only roll her eyes and give herself one more once-over before poking her head around the corner. Though the office was essentially set up the same way as Dumbledore’s, the atmosphere of the room seemingly changed to suit the person behind the desk. Dumbledore’s office had been bright and cheerful, the wood of a lighter shade and the windows open and bright. McGonagall’s offices still had the bright, open windows, but the woods were darker cherry, giving the room more of a warm and comfortable atmosphere—much like the Gryffindor common room.

McGonagall, who sat behind her grand desk, spotted Hermione and waved her over. “Come in, Miss Granger. Is Mr. Weasley behind you?”

Hermione blushed and nodded, stepping out as the others turned to smile or wave at her in greeting. Percy and Kingsley flanked McGonagall’s desk while Harry and George stood by one of the bookcases, George leaning lackadaisically while Harry had his arms crossed over his chest pensively. He spared Hermione a warm grin, but she could tell he was once again feeling extremely burdened about something that was beyond his control. Ron sat next to Mrs. Weasley on a conjured loveseat, the former’s arm slung around the back while the latter gazed up at Hermione and Fred in ecstatic joy.

“So good to see you, dear!” gushed Mrs. Weasley, her eyes twinkling and threatening to spill the tears.

“Hi, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione softly, squeezing the hand the older woman held out to her.

“Yes, _so_ pleased you could take the time out of your rigorous schedules to grace us with your presence,” came the drawling greeting from Professor Snape in his portrait behind McGonagall.

Hermione had the decency to blush as she sat in one of the armchairs. Fred, on the other hand, ignored both decorum and the matching chair to sit on Hermione’s lap. He flung his arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“You’re welcome, Professor,” he said to Snape cheerily.

Snape scowled and rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath.

“Now that we’re all here, we can begin,” said Percy.

Fred slowly shifted from Hermione’s lap to the arm of her chair so as to not cut off her circulation but clasped her hand firmly. Ron pulled his arm back as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Percy patted a folder on the desk and took a deep breath. “Preliminary tests showed the water to be normal.”

“How anticlimactic,” said George, scratching his chin.

“Though not wholly unsurprising considering what we’re supposed to be dealing with,” said Mrs. Weasley, brows furrowed. “What did subsequent tests show?”

A few years earlier, Hermione would’ve been quite shocked that Molly Weasley took a keen interest in potions. Her mother-hen tendencies aside, Molly Weasley was still a formidable, intelligent witch. Her children were brilliant, and they had to have inherited it from their parents.

“We used more archaic and intensive tests, but those showed the well’s waters to have the same result as any other naturally-occurring magical phenomena,” answered Percy. “But it’s only recently that the Glastonbury Tor has given off any magical readings. What sparked its activity is still beyond us.”

“All of the samples you brought back showed nothing out of the norm,” said Kingsley. “For all intents and purposes, your hypothesis was correct, Hermione. This is Ancient Magic—or at least _natural magic_ —at work.”

“So there’s no way to stop it?” asked Hermione.

“Should we even tamper with that?” countered Harry worriedly, pushing off from the bookcase to slowly walk around the office. “I’ve functioned under the belief that there are certain things we shouldn’t mess with.”

“As if we probably even _could_ anyway,” said Ron. “Honestly, though, what can we do? Drop a few cauldrons’ worth of animosity potions and hope it all balances out?”

Though he didn’t say a word, Snape closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples.

“It was rhetorical, mate!” cried Ron indignantly. “I know better, thanks very much.”

“What do we do then?” asked Hermione, disliking the tone of the conversation. “Leave it to its ancient magical agenda and wash our hands of it?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Weasley blandly, though she didn’t look very pleased about it either. “Apart from the fact that this is the will of a force greater than that of any community of magical folk, tampering with it in any way runs the risk of warping the magic.”

“Molly is right,” said Kingsley. “Naïve as it may be to put our trust in something this influential, the magic is benign. I’d rather we do nothing to change that.”

Seeing Hermione’s grimace, McGonagall offered another rationale. “Imagine us trying to cast spells or pour potions on Newgrange, Miss Granger. Or Ayer’s Rock or Yellowknife.”

Hermione’s grimace faded with a sigh, but the idea of letting alone something that so directed affected the magical community rankled. Fred squeezed her hand knowingly.

“You’ve called a meeting about something that you have absolutely no control over then,” said Snape. “Wonderful.”

“That wasn’t our only point of business, Severus,” said Kingsley.

“The second issue we have to deal with is whether or not we should release this information to the general public,” announced McGonagall, pulling off her spectacles and folding her hands together.

The reaction to that topic was starkly different to the first. The group fell into a tense, nervous silence, immediately catching onto the implications of both avenues.

“If we tell them, we run the risk of causing mass panic,” said Kingsley gravely. “The odds of the population decreasing are high as people may choose to leave the area as a whole to escape the effects of the water.”

“Even if the magic can’t make people fall in love the way everyone seems to be, they’ll still fear it as if it’s taking away their free will,” said Percy.

“And if we don’t tell them, we run the risk of someone outside the Order or the Ministry figuring it out on their own and releasing it to the public themselves,” said Hermione. “And we’ll either be protested for withholding information and breaking our promise of transparency or stamped with sheer ineptitude for not investigating it sooner.”

“Looks like we’ve got to pick the lesser of two evils,” said Harry. “Which one will be easier for us to cope with?”

“Aye, because there’ll be damage control no matter what option we choose,” said Ron.

Fred exchanged grimaces with George.

“Actually,” said George.

“You’ve failed to take into account one more aspect of telling the people or otherwise,” said Fred. He nodded at Ron. “Dark wizard involvement.”

“If you tell the people, you wind up telling someone who could use the well for nefarious purposes,” said George.

“Then they’d have no qualms _tampering it out of benignity_ then,” sighed Percy, pulling off his spectacles to rub the bridge of his nose.

“And if we don’t tell the public, that still may not stop someone with malevolent intentions from going to the Chalice Well and mucking around inside it, earning the same outcome of tampering things out of benignity,” said Fred.

“We can’t tell the public,” said Mrs. Weasley, eyes wide in anxiety. “The risk of Dark wizards is present no matter the outcome. It’s best we focus our attention on that danger without also having to worry about witches and wizards visiting Glastonbury out of sheer curiosity or a mass exodus because people can’t stop and listen for a minute and a half—Kingsley, you _know_ how the public will react.”

“What if we pretend that we _just now_ embarked on the investigation about the sudden rise of newfound love in the magical community?” offered Harry. “That way we can still uphold transparency and slowly feed the people the information so we’re not suddenly dumping too much dangerous information on them that will cause a panic.”

“That doesn’t help on the Dark wizard front,” said Ron.

“There’ll be Dark wizards regardless, Ron,” said Percy. “The most we can do is tell the people about the magic, but not its source. Then we hide the Chalice Well, ward it from magical folk—witch, wizard, or Squib alike.”

“So far only the people in this room know about the Chalice Well, so keeping that secret won’t be a problem,” said McGonagall. “It may not be full transparency, but you can release a statement about the danger of exposing the source, and the people will be placated, I’m sure.”

Kingsley sighed and nodded. Hermione grimaced, and Fred kissed her temple.

“What’s the worst that can come out of this Matchmaker Phenomenon anyway?” sighed George.

Harry glowered at him. He’d clearly mastered the Professor’s Glare. “Don’t start asking those kinds of questions now.”

“Honestly, though,” said Ron. “The most worrying outcome is some couple spawning the new Dark Lord.”

“Doubtful,” said George. “Draco’s gay.”

Harry seemingly choked on his own spit.

“I knew it,” muttered Ron, eyes narrowed. “He was _extremely_ fixated on Harry back in the day.”

“Well, he was seen being disgustingly lovey-dovey with Blaise Zabini,” said Fred. “I suppose it detracts from their insufferable Slytherin-ness—them being so in love and all.”

“And yet sadly the same cannot be said for you and Miss Granger,” said Snape, sneering.

“I have no qualms snogging her in front of you, professor,” said Fred, his good-natured tone surprisingly not offsetting his threat.

“I was not drawn with proper vomit-catching apparatus, Weasley, restrain yourself.”

“Ah! It looks like I’ve arrived just in time,” said Dumbledore, walking into his portrait and resting an elbow on the back of his chair as he grinned down at everyone. “Hello, all.”

“Perfect timing, professor,” said George. “Have you come to avail us of our woes with a brilliant plant that will set the world on course to a utopian future?”

Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled in amusement, and his shoulders shook with soft chuckles. “I’ve only come to fetch a book I’m lending to Professor Zuberlitt—Fred, Hermione, you remember him?”

Eyebrows shot up at the couple, but Hermione steadfastly maintained eye contact with Dumbledore while Fred simply smiled cheerfully.

“Besides,” said Dumbledore, crouching down to pick up the book that had rested on the floor next to the leg of the chair, “I daresay you’ve all done a much better job than I ever will. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He tipped his head, winked at Snape (who rolled his eyes once more), and walked out of his painting.

“Well, there goes the plan,” sighed George.

“What plan?” asked Hermione.

“We held the meeting here just in case Professor Dumbledore offered some of his most-solicited unsolicited advice,” said Percy, grimacing.

“Valiant effort, mate,” said Harry, “but we really should’ve expected that.”

Kingsley uncrossed his arms from his chest to clasp his hands behind his back. “So are we in relative accord about the situation?”

“I suppose,” said Mrs. Weasley, exchanging nods with McGonagall.

“I assume this is as good as it gets,” said Harry, ruffling his hair and rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

“That’s all we can ever ask for,” said Percy, picking up his folders.

Kingsley turned to Hermione, whose frown had yet to abate. “There’s not much we _can_ do even if we _should_.”

“I know,” sighed Hermione, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other. “Let’s hope everyone’s still too infatuated with each other to protest much then.”

“It’s all right, darling,” said Fred, kissing her knuckles and tugging her to her feet. “Those love bugs’ bites are much worse than their buzz.”

Hermione groaned as she straightened up, knowing what was about to come. “Please don’t start this again, Fred.”

“And those waters ran deep, so you know there’s a whole _well_ of love for everyone to sip from.”

Hermione rubbed her forehead with her free hand as he tugged her along. _“Fred.”_

He kissed Mrs. Weasley’s cheek and thumped George on the back before whacking Harry and Ron upside their heads. “Oh, Hermione, don’t worry, I’m not going to _descend_ into my previous tangent. I’m just going with the flow of the situation.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

Fred grinned and released her hand to sling his arm around Hermione’s shoulder and tug her closer. _“Every time I breathe, I take you in, and my heart beats again—”_

Hermione ducked out from his arm and tried to run to the Floo.

_“—baby, I can’t help it; keep me drowning in your love—”_

Fred easily managed to catch up with her behind the corner, picking her up ‘round the waist and twirling her around before grabbing a handful of Floo powder.

_“—and every time I try to rise above, I’m swept away by love.”_

“Bye, Freddie! Bye, Hermie!” called George cheerfully.

“George Weasley, don’t you get started on that foolishness too!”

“— _baby, I can’t help it. Keep me drowning in your love.”_

The fireplace whooshed, the green light illuminating Fred’s incandescent grin and the way Hermione tried to hide her amusement behind a longsuffering look before they disappeared in a swirl of flames.

“Disgusting,” muttered Snape as the rest of the present Order members began to depart as well.

“Oi, at least you’re not exposed to that all the time,” said Ron.

“That’s certainly not the worst case scenario, Mr. Weasley,” said Snape blandly. He cocked an eyebrow. “That nightmare would be you and Mr. Potter giving into your unrequited love for one another.”

“And _that_ is where I will take my leave,” said Kingsley, striding to the fireplace with Percy.

While George nearly choked trying to stifle his laughter, Harry and Ron exchanged glances, grimaced, gagged, and then glared at Snape before marching off in opposite directions—Harry out the office door and Ron to the Floo.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” asked McGonagall.

“No, but it got them away from me, didn’t it?”

“If you’re going to act like that, you cannot lord your prediction over me anymore,” said McGonagall, waving goodbye to Mrs. Weasley as she followed Kingsley and Percy. “You can’t complain about the very thing you gloat over.”

“I do not _gloat_ ,” said Snape. “I merely predicted that Miss Granger would inevitably choose someone who could make her laugh away her infuriation. I didn’t wish her to procreate with _that_ particular Weasley.”

McGonagall physically turned in her chair to grimace at Snape in disgust.

He only raised an eyebrow again. “Merlin knows what kind of havoc their children will wreak upon you, Minerva.”

McGonagall blanched, winced, and then turned back, tapping her finger. “What are the odds I’ll still be alive by that time?”

Snape smirked.

* * *

Needless to say, there was still some mild panic when Kingsley released the news of the investigation, but then many went right back to snogging, so it wasn’t too big of an issue. Granted, that didn’t account for those who genuinely worried about the moral implications of having ancient earth magic meddling in their love lives, but after various studies were released, the general public were reassured that magic could in no way make anyone fall in _true love_ with someone else. (The fact that they had to reaffirm such a thing made Snape bemoan the ignorance and intellectual decrease of groupthink.)

So George had been right—it was anticlimactic. But it seemed to follow a nice trend of peace that continued in the Wizarding world. Of course, it still had its fair share of political controversies and upheavals of social paradigms, but for the most part, things were quiet.

Which was quite good for Fred and Hermione, who had long-since settled into their relationship and now, for all the world, looked like they’d been together for years.

Hermione had introduced Fred to her parents, who’d decided to remain in Australia. By the third visit—Fred’s third and George’s second—J.R. and Helen Granger had easily come to consider the boys family. Hermione’s father even went as far as to give them nicknames:

“Fred! George! Hello!”

“Evening, Dr. Mrs. Granger.”

“Hello, Nitrate. Glycerine.”

“Evening, Dr. Mr. Granger.”

It was really quite disturbing how quickly they all fell into roles that should have taken _at least_ six months to get accustomed, but following on the same vein as the start of their relationship, everything went smoothly.

Hermione had her own qualms about how that may bode for later in their relationship—the later years making up for the lack of conflict early on—but the devotion Fred showed her and the depth of her love for him negated much of her worries on that front.

Honestly, her biggest concerns were _exactly_ how Fred was going to propose. He’d taken her out on dates, but they were not exactly like the dates he’d told her about. He’d taken her out to a diner in Muggle London—highly informative but steeped in Muggle culture—whereupon he made her laugh so hard that patrons of the diner began to laugh too, whether at her or with her, it didn’t really matter. When the rain started, he dragged her out onto the street where he tugged her into a slow waltz, humming Tchaikovsky against her cheek.

He’d stayed true to the fundamental point of certain dates, but the fact that he managed to seamlessly cram them all into one outing gave Hermione cause for concern.

So when Christmas rolled around, and Order Members were invited to join the festivities of the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, Hermione took deep, steadying breaths to brace herself to the fact that Fred _may_ just propose to her that very night.

Her ruby-red robes complemented Fred’s emerald-green ones, so their festive entrance to the Great Hall was well-received. Decorated in sparkling, temperature-regulated magic ice, tinsel, pine, and House-colored baubles, Hogwarts was a magnificent sight. The Yule Ball of the Triwizard Tournament paled in comparison, but the atmosphere wasn’t the same. It was a lighthearted event, but there was still a heaviness in the air. No matter how beautifully decorated the castle could be, it didn’t erase the ghosts.

For all intents and purposes, really, the presence of the Order of the Phoenix members was less about their own celebrations and more for the well-being of the children—many of whom had slowly begun to trickle back to enroll in the spring semester.

The Order and several other Aurors took turns patrolling the halls and the grounds, as the Minister of Magic himself as well as other Ministry officials and high-ranking professionals were in attendance. It was a chance for the old and the young to mingle. The students did a fantastic job comporting themselves in a formal setting, and the officials were more than happy to answer questions, give advice, reassure, and to apologize—with sincerity that leaked from their eyes.

The portraits of the former headmasters lined the back wall of the Hall, looking upon their pride and joy. Dumbledore, especially, engaged as many students as he could, focusing his attention on those who were particularly shy or uncomfortable. Snape had visited Dumbledore briefly, sitting in a chair in the back and sipping from a pint, choosing not to participate in the parade with his own portrait. It was for the best, as many students had remembered him and—at Professor Potter’s behest—pointedly refused to even look at him, not wishing to spoil the happiness of the younger students by acknowledging him.

Fred and Hermione had taken the earlier rounds, so they had the opportunity to enjoy the end of the night, when most of the students had begged off at the late hour and the graduates had begun to drift to tables with warm drinks and warmer conversations.

Harry and Ginny, Ron and Luna, and Fred and Hermione remained on the dance floor, swaying to the soft lullaby—from whence the music came, no one could guess; it was McGonagall’s happy, well-kept secret.

Hermione rested her head on Fred’s shoulder, tired from the long day, though still pleased at the outcome. It wasn’t until the music had faded that she realized Fred had gone and danced her right out of the Great Hall and down the hallway.

“Fred?”

“I think you may have fallen asleep on me there, love,” he said, rubbing her back. “And on your feet no less.”

“Why are we out here?” she asked, going along with it as he continued to box-step her along.

Fred shrugged and spun her out slowly, taking care not to hit a nearby potted plant. “Because this hall has better music.”

And with that, two suits of armor stepped right off their pedestals and began to waltz together, spinning around in such a way that the awkwardness of the metal forms blurred into beautiful grace. A slow piano medley began to play, ricocheting along the hall.

“Your charm,” breathed Hermione, grinning.

Fred preened. “I love it when you like something I made.”

She directed her grin at him and reached up to kiss him softly. He continued to lead her in a slow circle as the suits of armor continued to twirl and swish around them.

_“There’s a love that’s divine, and it’s yours and it’s mine…”_

Hermione rested her head on Fred’s shoulder again, breathing deeply and smiling softly—knowing full well she could console herself to spending the rest of her life with this surprisingly romantic buffoon.

_“…fill my heart with gladness, take away my sadness. Ease my troubles, that’s what you do.”_

The suits of armor ended their dance with a slow dip before bowing to Fred and Hermione and returning to their posts.

It was only then that Hermione noticed something warm and hard on her left hand—on the ring finger of her left hand, to be exact. She didn’t even look up. She just kept her hand and head on his shoulder, their dance slowing down to them swaying back and forth in spite of the silence.

“Fred?”

“Hm?”

“You’re not even going to ask?”

She felt his grin against her forehead. “Do you like the ring, Hermione Granger?”

“I love it, Fred Weasley.”

Meanwhile, just around the corner was a huddled group of witches and wizards who were whispering and exchanging Galleons with various levels of smugness and disappointment.

Neville lost forty Galleons, as he’d been convinced that Fred would seize the opportunity to “start the New Year on the right side of the bed,” which he reckoned Fred would mean _Hermione’s_ bed. He’d bet on the proposal happening on New Year’s Eve, right before midnight to seal the deal and welcome the new year.

Shacklebolt lost his own forty Galleons, having claimed Valentine’s Day—which many knew was _entirely_ too far off for Fred. Harry won fifty Galleons on his Christmas proposal prediction, as well as McGonagall—though her twenty-five Galleon prediction of it happening when they were trapped under enchanted mistletoe was a miss. Ron lost thirty, though his own prediction was only several hours too late; he’d predicted Christmas Day.

The rest of the Weasleys had done very well. George pocketed a hundred Galleons for his Christmas Eve prediction; Ginny won fifty Galleons on a musical proposal. Bill claimed sixty Galleons for knowing Fred would go for an untraditional proposal.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, however, were the true winners of the betting. Mr. Weasley was two hundred Galleons richer, knowing Fred wouldn’t make a spectacle in order to keep from thoroughly embarrassing Hermione. Mrs. Weasley smugly accepted a three hundred Galleons on a Hogwarts proposal as well as the utmost pleasure of Hermione as a legal part of her family and with a man, who was surprisingly good for her, as well as the inevitable grandbabies.

* * *

**The End**


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